The Perks of Befriending a Malfoy
by snapplexo
Summary: The symptoms of an oncoming war are rearing their ugly heads, but as in all wars, life goes on. Hermione Granger still works just as hard in school. But when she must begin patrolling the corridors at night with Draco Malfoy, he teaches her a few extra lessons, and she might just learn to love him in the process. (DMHG, OotP through post-DH)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, I do not own Harry Potter or any of J. K. Rowling's characters. I own my OC's, however, which is significantly less exciting. I am not profiting from this story. This is simply a tribute to my favorite series of all time.**

**This work of fanfiction is created by me. It is hosted on two different sites (see my profile for details).**

**This particular fanfiction is rated T for suggestive themes and allusions, occasional use of strong language, and bits of violence here and there. Nothing is very graphic at all, and the language used is typically milder in nature.**

**I apologize in advance for any potential spelling/grammatical/canon errors. I am usually quite good at catching these mistakes but they do occasionally slip past me. I typically fix them if I notice them.**

* * *

**The _Perks_ Series**

**Part One of Three:**

_**The Perks of Befriending a Malfoy**_

**by**

**snapplexo (Tyler)**

* * *

It's a universally known fact that kids love the end of the school day, especially when it leads to the weekend. Kids at Hogwarts were no different. The excited clamor of the fifth-year students rang down the hallways. They were all too ready to be done with school for the week; that is, except for Hermione Granger.

While she didn't exactly _love _all of her classes (or teachers, either, for that matter), she was studious by nature. She loved learning; she even did it in her spare time. She would read her textbooks over the summer to prepare for school. So while the weekend meant that she and her friends could kick back and relax for a while, she missed getting to attend her classes every weekday. But, there wasn't usually too much to do at Hogwarts over the weekends, really. So, Hermione often studied over weekends – when she wasn't hanging out with her friends, Harry and Ron, of course, who she noticed were in the middle of a conversation about how much they hated Professor Snape, a conversation that they had quite often.

"You know, it wouldn't be that hard to just get rid of him…what does he do around here but take points from Gryffindor, anyway?" said Ron.

Hermione decided to interject, being careful to keep her voice at a whisper. "He's a _teacher_, Ron, we really shouldn't be –"

_THUD_.

In a moment, all of Hermione's schoolbooks were scattered across the corridor, and she nearly fell over herself. She noticed that it wasn't just her things, but someone else's things were mixed in with her own. She tried to get a closer look but a voice stopped her quickly enough.

"Admiring my school supplies, are you, Granger?"

She knew the cold, drawling, sarcastic voice all too well. _Malfoy_.

"What, jealous that yours aren't like mine or something?" he went on, drawing the attention of multiple students who had stopped to watch the events unfold. "I guess mudbloods never really _can _afford stuff like this, can they?"

She turned bright red. "I could care less about your school supplies, Malfoy. I was just looking for a name."

Crabbe and Goyle quickly began to pick up Malfoy's things and hand them to him. "Pathetic," he said, taking a textbook from Goyle. "I was just teasing you, Granger. Everyone knows that it's the only sort of tease you'll ever get. . . . It's amazing, I thought nothing was nastier than a mudblood." He turned around to the group of Slytherins who had gathered around him. "The only thing nastier than a mudblood is a mudblood with an even nastier face." This caused a roar of laughter from the surrounding Slytherins. He smirked and took a step closer to Hermione. "Face it, nobody will ever care about filth like you. All people care about is the _oh-so-famous Harry Potter_."

"Leave Harry out of this," said Hermione, taking a step closer in turn.

"What, got a crush, Granger? I guess it could've been worse . . . it could've been your dirty, dirt-poor ginger friend there," he said, pointing to Ron, who was pursing his lips and clenching his fists. "_Oh, leave Harry alone!_" he said, attempting to imitate Hermione. She remained silent. "Embarrassed, are we?"

Harry put a hand on her shoulder. "Hermione, let me take care of this —"

"No," she said, shaking his hand away. She glared at Malfoy. "And I don't feel embarrassed at all. The only thing I feel is _pity_ for you, Malfoy. At least I don't have to get _daddy _to buy me friends." She looked around at the Gryffindors surrounding her and smiled victoriously. "I find it rather funny how you tell me that no one will ever care for me when not even your _parents _care about you. They just buy you things to keep you quiet."

He raised his eyebrows and smirked. "For your information, my parents _do _care about me," he said. "That's why they didn't have more children, you see. They didn't want me to grow up like a Weasley . . . stupid, poor, and desperate for attention."

"I'm not desperate for attention," Ron interjected. He caught Hermione's gaze and backed away a step.

"I think _you're _desperate for attention, Malfoy," said Hermione. "Why else would you pick on everyone? You just want to feel like you're worth something."

"I'm worth much more than you and Weasley _combined_, although I guess that Weasley doesn't add much anyway. . . ." He looked around the room at all of the surrounding students. "Do you all _need _something? Isn't it almost dinnertime? Don't you all have something better to do?"

Slowly, all of the surrounding students left for their dormitories, except for the two trios that were facing each other, each person glaring at the other group with a fire in their eyes.

"Hey, Malfoy!" said Ron, taking a step towards Draco. "Don't _you _have anything better to do?"

"I _did _. . . until she knocked everything out of my hands, that is," said Malfoy. "Then I got distracted because Granger was being so careless."

"Don't mess with Hermione," said Ron. "You remember that time she punched you in the face? Do you want me to do the same?"

Malfoy smirked with amusement. "Go ahead; it wouldn't hurt _nearly _as bad as hers did," he said, causing Crabbe and Goyle to chuckle and step forward. "But since we're on the subject, would you like my friends to try a couple on you, though?"

Ron backed up and Hermione sighed, trying to be appreciative for his effort.

"C'mon, let's get out of here," said Harry, who took Hermione by the arm to leave.

Malfoy laughed. "What, scared, are we? Come back and fight like a man —"

Suddenly, he found himself up against a wall, pinned there by Hermione. "We're not scared, Malfoy. We'd _never_ be scared of you. We just have better things to do than waste our time with you."

Crabbe and Goyle remained silent, and surprisingly enough, Malfoy did not appear to be too upset about this. They assumed that he was just distracted with trying to think of an insult that would tear her apart, but the shock and nervousness shown on his face when he turned his head to the side was more than enough to tell them that the words wouldn't come. He was staring into the furious eyes of Professor McGonagall, who had probably been watching them for some time. Hermione immediately stepped away from Malfoy, her face red with embarrassment.

"Of all the people in this school to be acting this way," said McGonagall, with more disappointment than anger in her voice. "Miss Granger? And then you. . . ." She turned to Malfoy, and her voice got sterner. "I don't know what you did to provoke Miss Granger like that, but I don't think I need to. And you all . . ." She turned to Harry, Ron, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were still stunned, standing off to the side. "I can only assume that you all were involved in some way as well. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, twenty points each from your respective houses. Ten points each from the others."

After a moment's silence, Hermione gained the courage to speak. "Will there be any further penalty, Professor?"

McGonagall sighed and crossed her arms. "I suppose that I'm in a generous mood today. No penalty other than the deduction of house points will be given…well, it's almost dinnertime, so get yourselves to the Great Hall as soon as you can."

They watched her as she walked out of the room. Malfoy shot Hermione a horrible glare before leaving with Crabbe and Goyle.

"I guess it could've been worse," said Ron.

Harry and Ron complained the entire way to the Great Hall about how annoying Malfoy was being (Ron claimed that his behavior should get him expelled immediately!). Hermione chose to walk just a little behind them. She tried to fight her tears. She hated getting in trouble, but she wasn't crying about that. She was seriously hurt. "_Nasty mudblood . . . even nastier face . . . no one would ever care about you . . . filth . . ._" She hung her head down in shame. She had never felt so down in her life. It didn't matter how much Harry and Ron told her not to worry about him. It didn't matter that he "wasn't worth it." It didn't even matter who said it to her. It was the _words _that hurt…

She forced back her tears, branding them as a foolish waste. He was just trying to get on her nerves. She tried to think of it as a trial of sorts. He was trying to get the better of her, but she wouldn't let him. She was better than that, she knew it…

Who was she kidding? She was _crying _about it. If she was really better than that she wouldn't be so upset. She could feel the tears streaming down her face. She ran past Harry and Ron towards the Gryffindor common room, where she could be in peace.

* * *

Hermione slumped down in a chair in the corner of the common room, which was thankfully empty for once. She felt more embarrassed than she ever had in her life. She tried to wipe away her tears but they just kept coming. She couldn't help it. She never felt so low, and it was all because of a few mindless words. . . .

She slammed her face into a pillow and screamed her heart out. Every day Malfoy picked on her in front of _everyone_. He didn't care . . . why would he? He was a heartless, cruel, evil Slytherin; nothing more and nothing less.

She tried to think of all the ways that she could get back at him, but she couldn't think of anything to save her life. . . .

She really didn't want revenge, did she? No . . . _she_ was better than that. It was just her way of being better. She was the bigger person. She didn't have to retaliate to seem better. Now if she could only convince all the people who hated her to feel the same way . . . but, it didn't matter. She had more important things in her life. Two of them walked through the door, looking horribly nervous.

"Hermione, are you okay?" asked Harry, who sat down beside her on the couch. Ron sat on the other side of her.

"Leave me alone!" she snapped, without thinking. She started to cry harder at her outburst. "I ― I'm sorry, I didn't mean to — "

"We know you didn't," said Ron, who gently touched her shoulder and smiled. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Why are you so upset?" asked Harry, after a small silence.

Hermione wiped away her tears. She didn't want to talk about it, but she thought that it was probably best if she tried, at the very least. "It's just ― just ― I'm just so sick of Malfoy! He has to criticize everything about me and everyone expects me to sit and be quiet about it! He does it to _everyone_…" She sighed. "He's nothing but a spoiled, selfish, rude, demeaning, nasty, hateful — "

"I think I understand well enough already," said Harry, but not without an encouraging smile. "Just don't let him get to you, Hermione."

"But _how_? Everyone keeps telling me that and I don't think I'll ever understand how I'm supposed to manage to do it…"

"But you're _Hermione Granger_," said Ron. "You can do _anything_."

"Ron's right," said Harry. "You can find your way out of any mess. You're worth so much more than him. Nothing he said about you was true, remember that. You'll always have us." He looked at the clock on the wall. "Well, Hermione, do you want to go down to dinner?"

"Yes, of course," said Hermione. She prayed that it would help her forget about her little incident. She'd be at the Gryffindor table, where she could talk with her friends and just relax. She didn't have to worry about Malfoy there . . . or so she thought.


	2. Chapter 2

_Ignore him, Hermione, ignore him. . . ._

Harry and Ron tried, she knew that they did. She was grateful for it, for having friends who cared enough to take time out of their evening to care about her. But those friends couldn't stop those cold, grey eyes from glaring at her from the Slytherin table.

He had been waiting for her. She was convinced. He wanted to give her that same look that he gave her earlier to make her feel worse. Why should he care? He was nothing but a heartless, cruel —

"Hermione?" Harry whispered, quickly snapping her out of her once-again rambling thoughts. He raised his eyebrows curiously.

"I just don't like the view at all." She shook her head and mindlessly moved a few peas around on her plate with her fork.

Having gotten to dinner later than most of the students, she, Harry, and Ron were forced to sit wherever they could find space. Tonight, for her, that was right across from Malfoy at the Slytherin table.

Ron narrowed his eyes at her. "You could try to stop looking, you know. . . ."

"Gee, Ron, why didn't _I _think of that?" she snapped. She hung her head down and sighed. "I — I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that…I'm just a bit frustrated."

"What are you frustrated about?" asked Harry, who was now grabbing a dinner roll.

"We have a lot on our plates, don't we?" She sighed exasperatedly. "I mean, what with O.W.L.'s coming up, not to mention prefect duties . . ." She glanced at Ron. "We have night shift tonight."

Ron looked at her over his glass of pumpkin juice. He set it down gently and raised his eyebrows. "Who with?" She nodded in the direction of the Slytherin table. "Malfoy and Pansy?"

She nodded again. "They won't be that close, though…they're positioned closer to the dungeon…you know, patrolling around the Slytherin common room. Shouldn't be a problem," she said, taking a bite of food. Her eyes met Ron's confused glare. "I'm not exactly _happy_ about it, obviously. I'm just trying to look on the bright side. . . ." She caught Malfoy's eye; he shifted his glance to Crabbe, who was seated beside him, and muttered something to him. Looking a few students down from where Malfoy was seated, she noticed a pretty girl, with long brunette hair, blue eyes, and a lightly tanned complexion sitting at the Slytherin table. She didn't appear to be too much like the other students; while the others were all loudly discussing classes, Quidditch, and other students, she was quietly reading a book. Looking up, she caught Hermione's eye and quickly looked down.

Hermione leaned across the table to be quieter. "Do you know that girl over there?" she whispered. "The one about five seats down from Malfoy?"

Ron turned around. "Oh, yeah ― that's Charlotte Butler. She's in our Divination class. You've seen her before, haven't you?"

"No ― I guess I never really noticed her before…"

He smiled amusedly. "She's a bit of an odd one, as far as Slytherins go. Most people say she'd be a _great _Ravenclaw. . . . She's one of the top students in the school," he said, laughing lightly at Hermione's shocked impression, "but not surpassing _you_, of course."

Hermione gave an appreciative smile. "Thank you, Ron." She looked over at the clock on the wall and began to stand up. "Well, we better head towards the corridors . . . don't want any wanderers, you know." She turned to Harry and waved. "Bye, Harry."

"See you," he replied, with a forced smile.

She and Ron walked out of the Great Hall towards the main corridors, staying a couple of feet away from each other as they traveled. Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye that Malfoy and Pansy had also gotten up and were probably heading towards the corridors near the dungeon.

"Poor Harry," said Hermione, taking a wishful glance back at the Great Hall as it became further and further away. "He's got so much on his plate right now. . . ."

Ron nodded. "And that Umbridge woman 'teaching' Defense Against the Dark Arts doesn't exactly help, either. She acts like learning this stuff'll never come in handy. . . ."

"Well, it might not be too important for every student, but _Harry_. . . ." She stopped suddenly where she was standing and shook her head. "It's too dangerous. He _has _to learn this stuff . . . I mean, if You-Know-Who really _is _back. . . ."

"He'll need all the practice he can get," said Ron, stopping also to face her.

"Exactly . . . I'm just not sure what to do anymore…"

Ron smiled encouragingly. "Like I've said before, Hermione, you're the cleverest witch of our age. I wouldn't be surprised if you could figure something out over the weekend."

"It doesn't matter how clever I am if You-Know-Who's back," she sighed. "Thank you, but . . . he's one of the most powerful wizards to ever exist, you know . . . it's not something to take too lightly."

The sudden rush of students coming from the Great Hall stopped their conversation immediately. They got out of the way quickly so that the crowd of Gryffindor students could make their way towards the tower. They watched them go up the stairs towards the common room and then turned back to each other.

"Well, it looks like everyone's up there," said Ron.

"All we have to do now is watch out for any potential troublemakers," said Hermione, with a slight smirk.

About an hour passed of just talking and walking around, but nothing particularly interesting occurred. Hermione tried her best to ignore Ron's exaggerated demonstrations of his boredom by staring out of a window.

"Come _on_, Hermione," he whined. "Can't we just_ check_ over there?"

Hermione was fairly fed up at this point about Ron's continual requests to investigate around the Slytherin dungeon. He kept asserting that it would be much more interesting; much more potential for troublemakers…Hermione ignored it for a while, but eventually got completely sick of his nagging.

"_Fine_, Ron," she snarled, "we'll check around their dormitory for a little while, but not too long, because I _honestly _don't think there'll be any problems there . . . I mean, they _have _prefects down there, although they're not necessarily the best. . . ."

"Exactly," said Ron. "I bet Malfoy's letting the Slytherins throw a bloody party down there. . . ."

Slightly angry that she gave in to something so stupid, she slowly followed Ron towards the Slytherin dungeon. Ron muttered that he heard something; in response, Hermione ignored him and walked ahead.

She quickly turned a corner around the closest wall to the dungeon and stopped dead in her tracks. She froze completely, letting out a sharp gasp, as she caught sight of Malfoy and Pansy sitting on a windowsill. Pansy was sitting on Malfoy's lap, facing him, with her tie thrown on the floor and the top two buttons of her shirt undone. Malfoy's hair was slightly disheveled and his tie was loose around his neck, held in Pansy's hands. As they noticed Hermione, Malfoy slowly took his hands off of Pansy's waist and sat up straighter.

At this point, Ron had caught up, his jaw dropping at the sight. Hermione shook her head at them and narrowed her eyes.

"What do you think you're doing?" she asked, taking a few steps closer to them.

"What do you think _you're _doing?" Malfoy snapped. "Aren't you supposed to be patrolling around _your _assigned area?"

Hermione blinked. "You're not exactly doing the best job of patrolling, though, are you?"

Malfoy pushed Pansy off of him and jumped down from the windowsill. "Are you _trying _to start trouble, Granger?" He set his hand on top of his left pocket, where he had placed his wand. However, Ron's wand was already out, directly in Malfoy's face.

"Don't," said Pansy, getting down from the windowsill and getting her own wand out. She pointed it at Hermione and glared at Ron. "Don't do it. I don't have to play nice —"

Pansy was interrupted as Malfoy laid a hand on her shoulder. She slowly dropped her arm and turned to him. "It's not worth it," he said. "Don't waste your energy on a mudblood like her."

Pansy seemed satisfied enough with this and turned to Ron, who was looking even more furious. "Well? I've dropped mine, you could certainly drop yours."

"Don't ― threaten ― Hermione," he said, through gritted teeth.

"I only threatened her after _you _threatened Draco, you idiot."

"He deserves it!" Ron snapped, perhaps a bit louder than he should have.

"Give it a rest, _Weasel_," said Malfoy, taking a step back from Ron. "It's not that big of a deal." He shot a glance at Hermione and smirked. "She never does anything when I call her a mudblood, you know. I think she's finally accepting it —"

"Malfoy, I _will _tell Dumbledore you're abusing your privileges," Hermione interrupted.

"Go ahead," he said, with a slight chuckle. "Go on, see if I care. Just allow me to remind you about all the dirt I have on you two and Potter." He smiled maliciously and took a step closer towards Hermione. "I dare you," he whispered. "I _dare_ you to try pulling something over me. You know my family. We don't play, Granger. I _dare _you."

He took a few steps back from her and smirked. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Pansy and I have some important business to attend to." He glanced at Pansy, who was looking as if she might burst with excitement, and then back to Hermione. "If you want to tell someone about this, go ahead; I just can't guarantee that Potter will be too happy with the result."

Ron started to say something, but Hermione glared at him, stopping him from saying anything stupid. She began to walk away from Malfoy (who at this point, had Pansy cornered and giggling) and the Slytherin dungeon, headed towards the Gryffindor tower. Ron looked confusedly after her, but soon followed, casting a final, resentful glare at the two as he left.

"What a git," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Don't you think we could still do something about it?"

Ron looked at her expectantly, but she remained silent. He narrowed his eyes after a few moments and moved a bit closer beside her.

"Hermione . . . are you all right?" he said, taking her by the arm. She pulled her arm out of his grasp and kept walking ahead of him.

"What ― Hermione, we can always get rid of him, I mean, we could get him expelled —"

"No." She stopped to face him for a moment. "No, we can't." She continued to walk, speeding up her pace slightly to prevent Ron from catching up too quickly.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but held his tongue and followed slowly behind her. Hermione was too lost in her thoughts to want to speak to him anymore. She was absolutely appalled at the sight of those two ― prefects, no less ― clearly ignoring what she felt like the school was about. _We don't have time for social games_, she thought, _especially with everything falling apart at the seams…_

Why should she care, though? If one of the heads or teachers caught them like that, they'd be in a world of trouble. She assumed that they enjoyed the danger of being caught. Besides, it wasn't like many teachers went down there, anyway . . . except for Snape, who probably wouldn't have done anything about it except give them a warning and relieve them of their duties for the night. Although, she thought that not even the most biased of teachers would let something like that slide. . . .

She slumped down against a wall. She felt weak for just allowing Malfoy to persuade her to leave. It was stupid of her. She knew that she could've done better; she could've fought back, she'd done it before. . . .

But would she? When he mentioned Harry, everything changed. She knew that Draco knew a ton about them, and he was connected to so many Death Eaters . . . who knows what might become of Harry if they threatened him?

She felt lost and scared. She pulled her knees up under her chin and hung her head down. She felt an arm wrap around her, which she wanted with all of her power to throw off of her.

"Don't worry about it," said Ron. "He won't hurt Harry."

She couldn't say anything. She was speechless. She knew _Malfoy_wouldn't hurt Harry, but what about the company he kept? They would give _anything _to kill him, she knew it. They wanted him gone…

But, Hermione was confused. She had just assumed that Draco only threatened Harry so often to prove himself. He sure acted like he'd kill Harry if he could . . . but something told her that he _wouldn't_. There was something within her that told her Harry would be fine, even with Malfoy's threats. . . . She didn't think that a fifteen-year-old kid would _really_ have it in him to kill someone . . . even if it _was _Malfoy.

As she entered her dormitory later after completing her shift, she had a strange comfort that everything would be fine, even if it seemed like everything would fall apart around them. Something told her that Harry would be safe, although she didn't know how. She didn't pretend to know how. All she knew was that she felt better, ending the day with a positive reassurance that everything might somehow go better than she had expected.


	3. Chapter 3

"Hermione…read this."

Harry handed her a small sheet of paper with a neatly-written note, although the message wasn't exactly what she wanted to see first thing in the morning.

_Dear Potty and Friends,_

_I just wanted to inform you all that after last night's little incident I decided to take a trip to Professor Snape's office and told him that you abandoned your post. Sadly, you won't be seeing him about it, but Weasel and Granger will be meeting Pansy and I in Dumbledore's office right after breakfast today. My, what a shame it'd be if you two got expelled!_

_Love,_

_Draco Malfoy_

Hermione crumpled up the paper and tossed it aside. She shot a glance at Malfoy, who maliciously grinned and gave her a small wave from the Slytherin table. She sighed and buried her face in her hands.

"I just don't understand," she said. "I thought we made a compromise. . . ."

Harry looked at her intently. "What happened?"

Hermione proceeded to tell him the story about the night before, not forgetting to mention in detail how they found Malfoy and Pansy.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Couldn't they get in trouble for that?"

"We were _going _to tell someone," said Ron, "but Hermione said we couldn't."

She shot an angered glare at Ron. "I only said that because I knew _we _would get in trouble if we did."

"How would you get in trouble?" Harry asked. "You weren't the ones snogging on a windowsill."

Ron turned away and mouthed something that looked like "Thank God," but Hermione ignored it.

"I don't mean in trouble at _school_," said Hermione. She dropped her voice to a mere whisper. "Harry, we just can't risk anything anymore, especially if his parents are Death Eaters. . . . He threatened us with it and I didn't want to take the risk. . . ."

"He wouldn't do it, would he?" Harry asked.

She took a deep breath. "You see, the thing is, I don't actually think he would," she said, causing Ron to turn around and stare at her. "I thought maybe he would in the moment, but when I thought about it later. . . . Well, I wondered what he would be able to tell them anyway. I can't even guess what kind of lie he made up to Professor Snape about what happened, I know he wouldn't _dare _tell him about him and Pansy, even if he is Snape's favorite. . . ."

"I bet Snape wouldn't even care," said Ron. "He likes Parkinson, too."

"He likes all of the Slytherins, Ron," she said. "But Malfoy's his favorite, I mean. . . . Anyways, at least we're not meeting with him. We're meeting with Professor Dumbledore and I'll take that any day." She heard the scraping of the benches against the floor as all of the students began to get up for class. "Well, Ron, let's head to his office," she sighed.

* * *

Ron and Hermione opened the door to Dumbledore's office and saw that Malfoy and Pansy were already seated in front of the Professor's desk. Malfoy turned around, smirked, and sarcastically winked at Hermione.

"Why, hello, Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. . . ." said Dumbledore, lightly smiling at the pair as they entered. He gestured towards two extra seats across from him. "Please, do sit down."

Ron took a seat on the end, leaving Hermione to sit beside Malfoy, who exaggeratedly flinched and pulled a disgusted look on his face. Dumbledore, however, caught this, and as Malfoy met his eyes, he sat up normally, careful to not potentially lose his chance to get Ron and Hermione in trouble.

"Now," said Dumbledore calmly, "Professor Snape has told me that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger abandoned their posts last night during their patrol shift; am I correct?"

As expected, Malfoy and Pansy nodded affirmatively, but Ron and Hermione shook their heads.

"An interesting revelation," said Dumbledore, turning to look at Malfoy and Pansy. "It seems that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have a different story." He turned to Ron and Hermione, his eyebrows raised. "Would one of you please enlighten us?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione shot him a warning look. She turned back to Dumbledore and took a deep breath. "Well, Headmaster . . . we were patrolling the corridors around the Gryffindor tower, when Ron suggested that we go check around the Slytherin dungeon. After some time, I agreed, and we left for the corridors near the dungeon. . . ."

"And might I ask what the problem was?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, _we _didn't exactly have a problem, but these two, sir. . ." She glanced at Malfoy and Pansy. "They were . . . er . . . being rather . . . _friendly_ . . . near the dungeon," she said, cringing as her eyes landed on a small reddish spot on the side of Pansy's neck.

"I see," said Dumbledore. "Is this true, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Parkinson?"

"With all due respect, _sir_," said Malfoy sarcastically, "I didn't think it was wrong to associate with one of my friends during a patrol —"

"If that's your idea of 'associating,' I'd be worried to find out what your idea of snogging is," Ron interjected. Hermione put her head in her hands and sighed.

Malfoy stood up, scooting his chair back slightly. "Excuse me, _Weasel_? Who do you think you're —"

"Now, now, that's enough," said Dumbledore, holding up his hand to stop them. "Mr. Malfoy, please sit down. Yes . . . thank you. Since I was not present at your patrol last night I can only go by what I think is best for the situation." He paused for a few moments before speaking again. "I've made my decision. I feel that it would be best to attempt to dissolve a bit of House rivalry. . . . I will be splitting up House prefects from now on during night patrols." All four of the students before him flinched and exchanged angry looks, but eventually settled down. "Hopefully this will make things fair. . . .

"Mr. Weasley, you will take your shifts from now on with Miss Padma Patil, of Ravenclaw. Miss Parkinson, you will be paired with Mr. Ernest Macmillan, of Hufflepuff." Pansy looked disgusted and cringed, but Dumbledore continued. "That leaves just you two," he said, gesturing to Hermione and Malfoy. Hermione was praying to whoever was out there that he wouldn't say what she knew what already coming. "I will pair the two of you together for night patrols.

Malfoy started and glared at Hermione, who looked more confused than anything. "Are we staying in these groups all year, Professor?" he asked, with widened eyes at Dumbledore. "I mean . . . do we _have _to?"

"It is my request that you remain in these groups for the rest of the school year," Dumbledore replied. "I suggest that you make the most of it. Well, students, I suppose you should run along and prepare for your next class. . . . My, you've already missed your first one, where did the time go. . . ."

One by one, all of the students rose and headed slowly towards the door. Hermione was the last to follow, but Dumbledore spoke before she could leave.

"Miss Granger, a word, please," said Dumbledore politely. He motioned her over and she walked slowly to him, as the others walked out of the door. He leaned over his desk and dropped his voice to a mutter. "You may think that I'm punishing you. I could tell you were not too pleased with my decision. . . ." He smiled at Hermione's confused expression and went on. "I'm not punishing you. While it may be hard to understand now . . . Mr. Malfoy over there needs someone to help him. I'm not forcing you to do so, but I felt that it would help him to be around a . . . _better influence_, if you will. I did not assign you with him because you were misbehaving, because I don't really believe that you were . . . but I assigned him with you, because he needs someone like you to hold him back a tad. You have a good head on your shoulders, Miss Granger. And while I cannot tell you why he needs you to be there . . . I would like you to know that it is for the greater good. And, who knows? You might actually befriend the boy . . . well, thank you for helping, Miss Granger."

"It's nothing, Professor."

* * *

_"You might actually befriend the boy" . . . what a load of rubbish. . . . _

Hermione shook her head and stormed out of the Great Hall that evening towards the corridors. She couldn't believe she'd have to spend the majority of her night with Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, of all people! She knew that Dumbledore had to request it of her for a reason, but it didn't make it any better. . . .

She leaned against a wall, watching as the students headed towards their dormitories passed by. Behind them emerged a reluctant-looking Malfoy walking towards her.

"All right, let's get this over with," he said. "We've only got, what, five hours to kill?" he asked, checking his watch. "I can't believe I have to spend five hours with _you_. . . ."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Sorry you can't snog Pansy tonight, Malfoy."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you want to play _that _way! This'll be an interesting night. . . ."

"More interesting than last?" she asked, as the two of them walked towards a rarely-used hallway, perfect for hiding stragglers. "I still can't believe you."

"For what?" he asked.

"Just…just the fact that you thought that was somehow okay."

"Okay?" He laughed. "I never said that I thought it was _okay_."

"Don't you have _any_ moral standards?" she asked.

He smirked. "I can if that's how someone wants me to act, if you catch my drift . . . role-playing's a bit of fun, you know?

Hermione pretended to gag and let him walk ahead of her. "You're disgusting, you know that?"

He laughed again. "You realize that I'm just making this up, Granger, right?"

"I mean . . . it just didn't seem that far off . . . it seemed like you would be that way with her. . . ."

"With who, _Pansy_?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. He paused for a moment, thoughtfully. "Well, to be quite honest, you're wrong."

"But aren't you two going out?"

"Well . . . er . . . I guess we are . . . kind of. . . ." He scratched the back of his neck and pulled a thoughtful face. After a moment's silence, he spoke again. "What, did she tell you that or something?"

"She told everyone that," Hermione replied. "I thought she was just —"

"_Bragging?_" Malfoy interrupted, with a smirk.

Hermione blinked. "I wouldn't call it _bragging_ if she's not lucky to begin with."

"So a girl starts talking about how she and I are so deeply and madly in love and you say she _isn't _bragging?" He shrugged after noticing her confused expression. "You realize that I'm not saying she's bragging because she has _me_, it's the fact that _she's_ got a boyfriend and _you_ don't."

"But, wait . . . you're not her boyfriend . . . are you? Didn't you just say —"

"So what if I am?" He smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Got a problem, Granger?"

She flushed red, although Malfoy couldn't tell if it was from embarrassment, rage, or a tad bit of both. "No, I just thought you said —"

"Relax. I'm just teasing you again. _Merlin_, get a sense of humor. Is this how _every _night's going to be? You know, I really did mean it when I tried to ask old Dumbledore if you could resign from prefect duties —"

"We're getting off-topic," Hermione interrupted. "We were talking about Pansy, remember? About whether or not she's your girlfriend?"

"Wow, very concerned, aren't we, Granger?" He scoffed amusedly. "No, she isn't. Not exactly."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, thinking. "But . . . what about last night? . . . Wait, didn't you go to the Yule Ball with her, too?"

"Granger, last night was nothing. It meant nothing to me. I was bored," he said. "And about the Yule Ball . . . yes, I did. Despite what you might think I'm not proud of all my decisions."

Hermione stopped walking. "Why did you go with her?"

Noticing the abrupt stop in the sound of her footsteps, he turned around to face her. "If you really must know, she kept nagging me about it, trying to be really slick by hinting at it during conversations and making a _clear _effort to look somewhat, er . . . _provocative_ . . . to get my attention." He shrugged. "It didn't work. Well, I mean, it wasn't the reason why I went with her. She's not unattractive or anything. I just don't really like her as much as you might think I do." He paused. "Wait, why the hell am I talking to _you _about all this?"

Hermione ignored his final remark. "But I still don't understand why you went with _her_. Didn't any of the Beauxbatons girls interest you? They certainly got most of the Hogwarts guys' attentions. . . ."

"Again, like with Pansy, I didn't find them to be unattractive. There were loads of good-looking girls at _that _school." He laughed after noticing her embarrassed expression. "Feeling a bit awkward, are we?"

"With an attitude like that I don't see why any other girl would go with you," she said, flatly. "Pansy's just infatuated, and she was the only one you could get, wasn't she?"

He laughed harder than before. "Really Granger, do you _honestly _think she was my only option? _Pansy?_" He leaned against the wall and slipped his hands in his pockets, still grinning from the laughter. "Trust me, I had _plenty _of other offers."

Hermione tried to look disbelieving, but she knew deep down that he was probably telling the truth this time. "Then why did you go with Pansy if she wasn't your 'best offer?'"

"Status, sweetheart." He smirked slightly at her crimson complexion. "I'm a Malfoy, remember? Pureblood supremacy and all that? I could _never _go with a filthy halfblood or mudblood," he said, as her eyes narrowed and her fists tightened, "and expect to live it down."

"Not everyone in Slytherin is a pureblood, Malfoy," she growled.

"I know that, but do you think that they're proud to _not _be?"

Hermione looked red with anger and not embarrassment anymore. "What's so wrong with being a halfblood or muggleborn, anyway? Why would someone not want to be?"

He sighed and looked at her exasperatedly. "It's not their blood status _itself _that they're concerned about, it's the fact that they could get looked down upon for it . . . although, I think most people stopped caring a while ago. . . . I was talking about going with a girl like that and my _parents _finding out. Do you have any idea how they'd react to that? Most of my other offers were from halfbloods and mudbloods ― oh, come on, Granger, get over it ― and I wouldn't _dare _take a girl like that to a dance. My parents don't want me even having little flings with anyone who might not be a pureblood. They would count a dance in that. They know Pansy's family pretty well, anyway. . . ."

Hermione was genuinely shocked, even if it was someone she thought so cruel as Malfoy. "But you don't like her!"

"So?" He glared at her and shook his head. "Do you think _they _care about that?"

"But they're your _parents_, Malfoy!" she said, her anger now shifting to pure confusion. "Aren't you close with them? You always talk about how you'll talk to your father—"

"HOW THICK ARE YOU?" he roared. "DO YOU REALLY THINK MY FATHER CARES ABOUT _MY _CHOICES?" He took a deep breath and paused, noticing a glint of tears welling up in Hermione's eyes that she was visibly fighting back to look strong. They remained staring for a few more moments, before they were distracted by the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor, from what they conveniently assumed to be another set of prefects ending their shifts. He hastily checked his watch, sweating slightly. "It's late. Prefect duty's over. Bye."

Hermione watched as he stormed down the corridor towards the Slytherin dungeon. She couldn't handle it anymore. She was crying again. When she was supposed to be so strong, she started crying, _again_? She knew that he noticed and she wasn't proud. The last thing she wanted was for the whole school to hear about how Hermione Granger cried during the first week of her night shift patrolling the corridors. And yet, something told her again that she had nothing to worry about. She felt calmed all of a sudden, like everything was going to be okay this time, too. . . .

She knew he'd never tell anyone. She had enough dirt on him now, too. He couldn't risk her telling anyone about how terrible his family was to him . . . and, she realized, that she couldn't find enough courage to do it, either.

He seemed so broken down . . . the predator became the prey so quickly that she forgot what he was before. She felt guilty for having provoked him and making him so angry. But, it wasn't _her _fault, right? She just reminded him of bad experiences, that was all . . . but she still took all the blame. She didn't have to ask about his personal life. . . .

But did he_ have _to tell her? She never would've known just how bad it was . . . being forced to only associate with the ones his parents approved of according to blood status, not to mention the fact that they were known Death Eaters. . . .

As usual, Dumbledore was right. He needed help. And whatever she said to provoke him, it was said for a reason. He needed to let it all out, as shocking as it was sudden to her. She didn't know why he told her, and she wasn't glad about it. She didn't know how to respond.

She wrapped herself tightly in her school robes and headed towards the Gryffindor tower. She hastily wiped the tears streaming down her face with her sleeve. She had never been one to judge a book by its cover, and she certainly wasn't prepared to let that change. . . .

She would never admit it, but she felt sorry for Draco Malfoy.


	4. Chapter 4

"You all right, Hermione?"

Hermione turned her head that had been resting on her hand to the left. She forced a smile at Harry, who was watching her with a look of great concern.

"Yes, I'm fine Harry, thank you," she said, turning back to the book on her lap.

"I was just wondering," he said, "because it's autumn and you're sitting in front of the fireplace with a blanket over you."

She looked around her, evidently having not noticed her surroundings. Harry was right; she was seated in a chair right in front of the common room's fireplace, her legs curled up under her, with a blanket draped on top of her.

She flushed red. "I'm just feeling a bit cold, that's all. . . ."

Harry seemed skeptical. "Hermione, it's an incredibly warm day today, not to mention that you're almost directly in the sun."

She looked out the window to her left, and again, Harry was right. The only thing now blocking her from the full heat of the sun was Harry, who had stepped between her and the sunlight.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" he asked. "You've seemed not well for the past few days."

"Well, I ― oh, hello, Ron."

Ron had just appeared beside Harry. He also looked confused at the sight of Hermione.

"Blimey, Hermione, what's gotten into you?" asked Ron, glancing at the scene as if she was insane.

"I'm just not feeling well," she said. "That's all. There's nothing else to it."

"Yes, there _is_," said Harry. "You always complain about how warm it is in the common room. This isn't normal for you. Just tell us what's wrong."

She knew exactly why she was upset, and she knew that she couldn't tell them. She made a promise to herself the night before to leave everything that Malfoy said private. She couldn't find it in her to embarrass him in that way, even if he _was _still the same Malfoy that they'd known for years.

"It was Malfoy, of course," she said, truthfully, but she wasn't ready to give out the entire truth. "He — he was just being a bit of a bully last night, that's all. . . ."

She knew that this was hardly true. Sure, he was a bit rude to her when the shift started, but she didn't consider him to be a _bully_ for what he said. She felt that maybe he just wasn't sure how to communicate with people, because he clearly didn't know how to communicate with his family. . . .

"Malfoy?" asked Ron. "I'm not surprised at all. . . ."

"Wait, why were you not with Ron?" asked Harry.

"Dumbledore wanted us to stay with who he partnered us with _only_," she said. "We can't go wandering off without them."

"I still would," said Ron. "At least Padma's not a total git, even if she's still a bit put off from the Yule Ball. . . . If I had been paired with Malfoy I'd've probably resigned from being a Prefect, even if mum and dad were so happy about it. . . . I couldn't stand that guy for that long. . . ."

"Thank you for your insight, Ron," said Hermione, flatly. She turned to Harry. "Anyway, since Malfoy and I were paired up, he naturally was going to be a bit troublesome . . . I knew it coming in. It was fine; I just ignored him. . . ."

"What did he say to you?" asked Harry, who pulled up a chair beside her.

"Oh, just the usual," she said, as casually as she could. "You know, 'mudblood,' 'how's that blood-traitor boyfriend of yours,' just stuff like that."

Harry shook his head. "What an idiot."

"Hm? How?" asked Hermione, who had let the word slip out before she could think.

Ron looked at her with an expression of even further bewilderment. "Hermione, do you need to lie down?" he asked. "You seem really odd..."

"I just don't see how him talking to me the way he usually does would make him an idiot," she said, closing her book, throwing aside the blanket, and standing up. "Well, it's time for breakfast. We should head downstairs."

Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks behind her back as she swiftly headed for the door. "Come on, hurry up," she said, turning around.

She tried her best not to show it, but she was fairly convinced that she was acting a bit defensive about Malfoy. Not that she actually cared about him or anything, but. . . after she had heard the way he was treated by his parents, she found it hard to not feel _something_. She tried to convince herself that she simply pitied the boy and attempted to shove it out of her mind. She knew very well that it wasn't just a feeling of pity, but she wasn't about to pretend that she knew what it really was.

The trio reached the Great Hall and sat down with Harry and Hermione seated together and Ron across from them. Harry put a hand on her back and muttered something like "You're the better person," but she wasn't paying too much attention, because she had just noticed who would be the "lesser person" at the Slytherin table.

He, too, looked like he was cold. And in much the same manner as she, he was being comforted, probably being told that he would get better soon. He was seated beside Charlotte Butler, the girl whom Hermione had observed just days before reading a book alone at her House's table. She wasn't touching him at all, but appeared to simply be saying encouragements to him. Glancing over to the seat across from Malfoy, Pansy didn't seem to be too pleased by this. Draco looked as if he was trying to be polite by remaining silent, resting his forehead on his free hand, propped up on the table. He looked like he had a terrible headache. He barely inclined his head, but all the same, met eyes with Hermione. Although his face turned even paler at the sight of her, his gaze did linger for a moment, before he diverted it to Charlotte, who had apparently asked him a question. Hermione, too, turned her gaze to Harry, who opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing.

"I guess there's just something going around the school," said Hermione, with a weak giggle.

Ron snorted. "What, _Malfoyitis_?" He turned around and laughed when he saw Malfoy. "Looks like the namesake's caught it himself. If I had to look at that in the mirror every day though, I would too. . . ."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "I thought you didn't like him because his attitude irritated you."

"Yeah," he said, "but it helps that he's got a terrible face to match it." He turned around and looked at Malfoy again and scoffed. "Look at him! I can't believe that Charlotte girl's all over him, too. I have no _idea _what she and Parkinson see in that guy, not to mention all the other girls that talk about him every once in a while . . . must be the side effects. Don't get too close to him tonight, Hermione, or you might catch it."

She took a deep breath, staring at him as he laughed. She didn't know why, but she was furious. "You know, Ron, if I didn't know any better, I'd say that you're jealous."

Ron furrowed his brows. "_Jealous_? Of _Malfoy_? I wouldn't be jealous of scum like that if he had everything in the world. . . . Why would I be jealous?"

"Let's just say that you've never really been the center of attention."

She was saved from any further arguments by the sound of other students getting up and heading to their first period classes. She couldn't imagine what Harry and Ron must've been thinking about her little outburst. All she hoped was that they didn't think that she was coming to the rescue of Malfoy.

* * *

As soon as Hermione was finished with dinner that night, she ran to her dormitory. She guessed that now was a good time to be in her room because she didn't think that the other girls would be there that early. Tonight her night shift was later in the evening, as a couple of sixth-year students were taking it for the first couple of hours, and so she had plenty of free time. This was time that she would usually spend plotting Umbridge's downfall with Harry and Ron ― but tonight was different.

She pulled her luggage bag out from under her bed and began to rummage through the bottom. After pulling out nearly everything in the bag, she found it ― a tiny black book filled with nothing but blank, white pages. She set it on her bed and found a small quill that went with the book. Dipping it in a bottle of ink that she always kept by her bedside for writing letters and such, she began to write what would be the first diary entry she ever made:

_Dear Diary,_

_I honestly can't believe that I'm writing out my feelings in a book. It's really a stupid idea ― unless, of course, you just don't have anyone left to talk to._

_I found myself depressed this morning. I don't know for sure, but I think it may have had something to do with what happened last night._

_Last night Draco Malfoy told me some things about his family that I wasn't exactly expecting to hear, especially from him. He's hated me since we've met, because I'm, in his words, a "filthy little mudblood." Although, after last night, I've actually started cutting him a bit of slack for that._

_You see, he's forced to do whatever his parents want him to. He's only allowed to do what his parents allow him to. When I first got to the patrol shift and met him there, he began saying things like how upset he was that he'd have to spend that long with me ― I really didn't expect any different, so I just bounced it back on him, apologizing that he couldn't snog Pansy that night . . . but then he started explaining how he really didn't like Pansy as much as he acted like he did. I was convinced that they were dating because Pansy always talked ― or bragged, rather, not that she was exactly lucky to have him, though ― about how Malfoy spoiled her. I don't know why he told me this, but he told me that he didn't really like her because she was so clingy, and that he only went to the Yule Ball with her to get her off of his back and also to appease his parents, who knew the Parkinsons._

_I must just be from a completely different planet than he is, but I asked him why he'd go with her if he didn't like her, and why he'd let his parents decide for him who he should go to the Ball with. That's when he got really upset. He began to yell, asking me how I didn't realize that his parents didn't really care too much about his personal choices._

_Whether it was his yelling or the sheer cruelty of his parents, I don't know . . . but I began to cry. I tried not to, for fear that he might tell someone about it, but then I realized that he wouldn't tell anyone if I knew this much about him now. We ended the shift much earlier than we were assigned for._

_I couldn't believe how he, of all people, was so badly treated by his parents. I had always assumed that he had complete control over them when I was younger . . . he talked about it often. I want to say that I felt pity for him, but I don't think it was pity, exactly . . . but I don't know what it was. I don't know at all, but it wasn't just pity. Whatever it was, I felt so bad for him, even if he can be a terrible, selfish bully._

_I guess you can't judge a book by its cover alone, nor a person by their deeds alone._

_― Hermione_

She closed the diary and took a deep breath. It felt good to let her feelings out, even if it _was _just to a piece of paper . . . but she wouldn't be able to tell any of her friends about it. That was a promise.

She looked at the clock hanging on the wall and realized that it was time to leave for her patrol duty. She slipped her diary under her pillow and walked out the door, practically running down the steps.

* * *

Once she descended the staircases that led to the Gryffindor Tower and found the corridor just outside of the Great Hall where she met up with Malfoy the previous night, she was surprised to not be able to find him.

"Malfoy?" she asked, taking a few, slow steps around. "Malfoy, are you here yet?"

He walked out of a door to her left and he pointed back to it. She realized that he'd just gotten out of the bathroom.

She smiled as brightly as she could. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know ―"

He interrupted her by simply walking past her, silently. It was enough to stop her from speaking for a few minutes. Eventually, however, she ventured to break the silence again.

"You don't have to be so quiet, you know," she said, giggling.

Having been walking ahead of her for some time, he turned around, which stopped her laughing almost instantaneously. He let his eye contact with her linger momentarily before beginning to walk again.

She found a nearby wall and sat down, leaning against it. "Is this how the whole night's going to be, Malfoy?"

He looked at her again, with a slightly more irritated expression, and shrugged. He sat down against a wall opposite her, but didn't face her.

_Please say something. Call me a mudblood. I don't care. _The silence was unbearable. She didn't know why, but she was _dying _to hear him speak, if only to break the silence. . . .

_Why wouldn't he speak? _He still looked just as sick as he did that morning. She initially thought that maybe he was just giving her the silent treatment to be difficult or annoying, but for some reason, she didn't fully believe this.

Then it hit her ― last night, he had told her too much. He told her things that he didn't even appear to have told his best friends. He was afraid of another slip-up, something that might reveal even more about him. . . . And if he remained silent, no secrets could be revealed.

She mulled it over in her head for nearly an hour, trying to decide whether or not to try and speak with him again. About halfway into the shift, she decided what the right thing to do was.

"I haven't told anyone, you know," said Hermione, meeting his eyes, which had looked up as soon as she spoke.

His facial features seemed to soften a bit. She noticed that the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, in what she hoped was the suppression of a grateful smile. It didn't make him speak, however. They spent the second half of their shift in complete silence. Although, Hermione could've sworn that he was watching her occasionally, perhaps to see if she'd say anything else, but she was completely lost in thought, thinking about how she could help Harry in his quest to fight against Umbridge ― this was possibly the first time the entire day that she had gone more than ten minutes without thinking about Malfoy, something that she'd never thought that she'd have to do.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy getting to his feet, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him, their eyes meeting again, but his entire expression was calmer than it had been. She broke the eye contact by standing up herself, and nodding towards Malfoy, she walked towards Gryffindor Tower.

"Goodnight, Granger."

She quickly turned around, having heard what was unmistakably Malfoy's voice, but he was already gone, having headed towards the Slytherin Dungeon.


	5. Chapter 5

"I bet you think you're hot stuff, don't you, Granger?"

Hermione hadn't been outside during her break time for five minutes when Pansy approached her. She closed her book and set it to her side on the bench.

"I don't know what you mean, Pansy," said Hermione. "Please elaborate on what a slut you think I am, because I know it's coming."

For days Pansy hadn't seemed like herself. Well, she did, but just a bit more spiteful towards Hermione . . . if that was even possible. Having been paired for patrol duties with Ernie MacMillan, Hermione didn't exactly expect her to take it well, especially when Hermione was paired with what Pansy considered her "boyfriend," an association Hermione found nearly comical, but still sad, after what Malfoy had told her.

"You know what I mean," snarled Pansy. "And you _are _a slut, you're right . . . but what have you done to Draco?"

Hermione blinked. "Again, Pansy, I don't know what you're talking about."

Pansy's eye twitched slightly. "I'm not stupid, Granger. Neither are you, 'cleverest witch of our age.' We both know you've messed him up badly."

Hermione heaved a great sigh, slipped her book into her bag, and stood up to face Pansy. "Look, I don't know if something's wrong with Malfoy. All I know is that he's seemed sick since Monday morning. He's probably just not feeling well."

"How would _you _know he was sick Monday morning?" asked Pansy, placing her hands on her hips.

"I happened to glance over at the Slytherin table in a casual, non-awkward, normal way to see if anyone else wasn't feeling well," said Hermione. "I wasn't feeling great that morning, either, so I just glanced over to see if anyone who was on patrol duty was sick, because Ron seemed fine." She analyzed the angry expression on Pansy's face and shrugged. "Curiosity isn't a sin, Pansy."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "_I get that_. I just wanted to know if you maybe knew _why_ he wasn't feeling well." She looked around, as if to check for other students who might've been eavesdropping. When she saw that no one was listening, she sighed and looked down. "He's hardly talked to any of us these past few days, and I wasn't sure if you had something to do with it." She now looked back up at Hermione, glaring. "I thought maybe you'd upset him or something."

"As much as I wish that I was always responsible for Malfoy's terrible moods," said Hermione, "I didn't do anything to him. Really, I could care less about him, so don't worry about me taking him from you. I didn't hurt his feelings because, again, _we didn't speak at all on our last shift_."

"You didn't _have _to speak," said Pansy. "I bet you came onto him, didn't you ― ?"

"For the last time, Pansy, I don't care about Malfoy!" said Hermione, with a raised voice. "He's _your_ idiot of a boyfriend and you're his pathetic, tag-along girlfriend. _Are we clear? _ To be honest, I don't think that anyone in their right mind would come onto someone like Malfoy. . . . You really need to refine your tastes, Pansy."

Pansy scowled. "Draco's worlds better than your blood-traitor, Muggle-loving boyfriend."

"He isn't my boyfriend," said Hermione, "because I, unlike you, don't need constant validation from a member of the opposite sex that I'm not stupid and desperate."

Hermione stormed past Pansy, preventing her from saying another word or objection. Pansy had been acting like this ever since Malfoy wasn't well, but Hermione never had to talk to Pansy about it. . . . She was snapped out of her thoughts by the sight of Harry and Ron coming towards her, looking a bit exasperated.

"Sorry," said Ron, once he reached her, "but we got stuck talking to some Slytherins back there..."

Hermione glanced over at the congregation of Slytherins, which Pansy had now joined, flashing their silver badges and singing a chorus of "Weasley is Our King."

"Just ignore them, Ron," said Hermione.

Ron furrowed his brows. "Oh, so I should ignore _them_, but you can't ignore that pureblood git ―"

"Better watch what you're saying, Weasel."

Ron suddenly fell to the ground, pushed down by Malfoy, who was followed by his gang of Slytherins. Turning around, they all laughed and started another verse of their song. Hermione took this chance to get a closer look at Malfoy. He still looked a bit paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes were still very noticeable. His laughing was weak and appeared to be forced.

"Looks like he's still not well," muttered Hermione. She gripped Ron's arm tightly and attempted to help him up.

"I think _you'd _better watch it, Malfoy," said Harry, stepping forward to face Malfoy, but none of the Slytherins were interested in Harry at the moment. They had all surrounded Hermione and Ron at this point.

"How cute," said Pansy, squatting down beside Hermione to face her at eye level.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and quickly glanced at Malfoy, who had his hand on Pansy's shoulder and was forcing a malicious grin.

Whether she meant to or not, Hermione pushed Ron aside and stood up. "Aren't you going to support your _girlfriend_, Malfoy?"

He smirked. "Of course I am, Granger. I'm just supporting her from a distance." Pansy flashed him a look of confusion and anger, and he laughed. "What I mean is you can handle this on your own . . . girl to mudblood, you know?"

Taking Malfoy's offered hand, Pansy stood up and smirked at Hermione. "He's right . . . I'll take you like he said, girl to mud ―"

Hermione interrupted Pansy by pushing her as hard as she could into Malfoy, knocking them both backwards onto the grass.

"Yep, girl to mudblood," she said, grabbing Harry by the arm, who had helped up Ron while she was talking. "Harry, Ron, let's go."

She walked away from the group of Slytherins, arm in arm with Harry and Ron.

"Again, Hermione, that was bloody brilliant," said Ron.

* * *

Hermione decided not to come down for lunch in the Great Hall that day, too infuriated by the morning's events. She told Harry and Ron that she felt a little sicker and that she needed to lie down. She instead stayed up in her dormitory, on her bed, and made another diary entry:

_Dear Diary,_

_I've come here again because I can't say this to Harry or Ron. Well, maybe I could tell them part of it, but it wouldn't be very satisfying at all, because it's not the whole story._

_I sincerely regret having begged Malfoy repeatedly to just say something the other night ago when he was so silent, because one of the things I even thought he could call me, if only to break the silence, was a mudblood. I should really be used to getting called that by now, but it doesn't make it any less offensive._

_I just don't understand. Just a few days ago he was telling me his entire life story for no reason, and now he's back to being a bully?_

_He still looks sick, though. Everything he did today seemed a bit forced, like he was too weak to put any actual effort into it. In that sense, I felt a bit bad for him again._

_But why should I? He was being ignorant and horrible. I'm not coming to his rescue after that ― he knows that I've got all of this information on his family. If I were him, I wouldn't take a risk like that anymore._

_I don't know what to do._

_― Hermione_

She gently closed the book, set her quill on her nightstand, and laid down on her back. Like on the night he was so silent, she realized that she never thought she'd be trying to go ten minutes without thinking of Malfoy. She hated thinking about him. It only brought back horrible memories, including the ones that were made that day...

She braced herself for the rest of her classes that afternoon, because she knew she'd have to face Malfoy after dinner for another wonderful patrol.

* * *

Hermione leaned against a wall as she watched the crowd of Gryffindors pass her, no doubt containing Harry and Ron. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to have a patrol with Ron again, as annoying as he could be sometimes. . . .

Trailing behind most of the Slytherins, Hermione noticed Draco ending a conversation with Charlotte Butler. Nothing looked different about his appearance; in fact, he seemed completely unaffected by the morning. Hermione was disgusted, finding it hard to believe in her current state of anger that anyone wouldn't be bothered by such a confrontation. She was even more appalled by what he intended to be a polite nod in her direction as a greeting, after the way he acted towards her.

Once he caught up to her, he spoke as if nothing had happened. "So, where do you want to patrol first ―"

"I've said it once and I'm going to say it again," said Hermione. "You're a foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach!"

Malfoy looked a tad confused. "You're a bit too close for comfort there, Granger," he said after a short pause, putting his hands on her shoulders and pushing her back a bit. "Just let me explain ―"

"You don't need to explain anything!" she yelled. "You're just pathetic!"

Malfoy took a step back. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb, Malfoy!" she said. "You pushed Ron down for absolutely _no _reason, just to be spiteful!"

"Was he or was he not talking about me first?" asked Malfoy. When she didn't give an answer, he continued. "And what did you expect me to do, hug him? I swear, Granger, you're so naïve ―"

"No, I'm _not_!" she said. "See, you're still being a bully!"

"Two weeks ago that wouldn't have shocked you," he said, a scowl growing on his face. "When did it become surprising?"

She took a deep breath. "I just find it odd that you would continue to act like that when I know so much about you now."

"Then you _clearly _don't know as much as you think you do." He crossed his arms and leaned against the same wall that Hermione had minutes before. "Go on, tell me my entire life story, I'm _dying_ to hear it."

"I'm just saying, Malfoy, I wouldn't push around Ron again," she said. "He's my friend and I'm willing to defend him, no matter what it takes. And if that means I have to tell the whole school ―"

"You wouldn't dare," he growled, moving away from the wall and getting in her face.

"You're a bit too close for comfort there, Malfoy," she said, pushing him backwards, much harder than he pushed her. "And I _would_. I'm not your diary. I don't have to keep your secrets."

"With everything I have on you, I would," he said. "What would happen if I just happened to slip something to my father about you and your little band of heroes trying to sabotage Umbridge's ―"

"How do you know about that?" she hissed.

Malfoy smirked, pleased that he was in control again. "I have my ways, Granger. I've heard talk that there's this group she's going to start up for those who oppose your little plans." He laughed at her horrified expression. "If you play nice, I won't let her know anything significant about yours."

Hermione stared at him in shock. "That's a lie. You're going to tell her the first chance you get."

He raised his eyebrows. "You're so trusting," he said coldly, "that I don't even think I'll give it a second thought. Maybe I_ will_ go to her about it."

"You wouldn't dare," she said.

"Do my words taste nice, Granger?" he asked, rolling his eyes.

"Like I was saying, Malfoy, after what you did to Ron, I feel like I really should tell the whole school," she said.

"For some reason I feel like this has nothing to do with Ron," said Malfoy, after a moment's deliberation. "Not entirely, anyway. I think Pansy offended you more ―"

"Oh, you mean your _girlfriend_ ― ?"

"Not today, Granger ―"

"I'll tell them, Malfoy, I swear ―"

"What'll you tell them, honestly? What's there to say?"

Hermione pushed him into the wall and grabbed him by his sweater. "I'll tell them _everything_," she said, through gritted teeth. "I'll tell them about your family, how horrible they are to you, how they force you to be their little puppet and do everything to make them look good. I'll tell them that all of your friendships are based off of your status and nothing else. I'll tell them ― especially Pansy ― that your relationship with her is superficial and only because your parents wanted you with whoever they chose. I'll tell them that you lie about having power over them because you're _weak_, Malfoy; you act like you're so in control of your parents all the time and yet you have to run to mummy and daddy for help all the time because you can't handle your own problems. I'll tell them how you only bully people because your parents bully you!"

She let go of him and he slunk down against the wall to the floor. He refused to look at her. As her breathing quickened, she felt immediate remorse.

"You ― wouldn't ― dare." He finally looked up at her, with what looked like a glint of tears in his eyes. "I ― I knew that you wouldn't because of the way you looked when I told you. I could tell that even though you _hate _me, you wouldn't say anything about it."

"That's just because I have a heart, Malfoy," she said, unable to find the proper words.

"What, and I _don't_?" he yelled, as he got to his feet.

"That ― that's not what I meant ―"

"Of course it's what you meant!" he said, shaking his head. "You know it's what you meant! Draco Malfoy's a heartless little shit because he pushes people around that deserved to get it in the first place. I swear to Merlin, had I the right to give you what you deserve ―"

"Draco, calm down, _please_!" cried Hermione. He looked shocked at the use of his first name instead of the surname that she used so often, and promptly stopped yelling. She didn't even bother to wipe the desperate tears off of her face as she spoke. "I didn't mean anything that I said. I'd never tell anyone anything, you're right, because I'm not heartless and cruel. But I didn't mean that you were, not at all! I ― I actually f-felt quite the o-o-opposite a-after you t-t-told m-me everything. . . ." Hermione trailed off as she broke down, sobbing, and slumped down on the floor.

Malfoy stared at her for a few moments, forcing the angry tears back as well as he could. "I ― I'm . . . sorry. I was . . . I don't know, I just . . ." He began to slowly walk away from her, confused as to what to do.

She slowly rose to her feet and managed a light smile. "But you ― you're apologizing."

His back was turned to her, but he stopped dead in his tracks. He tried to turn his face back to her, but barely could manage it, for he knew she'd notice the pink tinge on his face. "Er...yeah." He attempted to continue walking, but Hermione had run around to face him.

"You apologized!" she said, smiling through the tears.

"Are you bipolar?" he asked, turning his face away from her. "You were just upset ―"

She laughed, wiping away the streams that the tears had left on her face. "I'm proving your point. You _do _have a heart, see?"

"I never believed for one moment that I didn't," he said to the wall, shoving his hands in his pockets. "But good to know it affirmed it for you there."

"I always knew you weren't heartless," she went on. "I'm just rather enjoying this. . . ."

"Please go away," he said, ducking his scarlet face down and tried walking around her.

"No." She ran to his left, seized him by that wrist and pulled him back. "You can't run away _now_, we still have a shift to finish."

"It's over soon," he said, checking his watch on the right wrist. He looked down and noticed her grip on his left wrist and he pulled it away, his face turning paler. "Please . . . please don't grab me like that ever again."

She laughed. "I just needed to stop you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"No, I just mean . . . never mind," he said, walking off.

Hermione chose not to stop him this time. He walked on, flustered as ever, his heart racing. He knew what did it, but this time was different.

_She needs to stop trying to be the light in everyone's lives_, he thought, _because one day, whether we like it or not, innocence will shatter and on that day she'll regret everything, including touching that wrist._


	6. Chapter 6

_Dear Diary,_

_I was so scared that this day would come. I felt like it was ready, and that it would be soon, but not this soon ― Umbridge has taken over Hogwarts._

_The wonderful Ministry of Magic has decided Dumbledore unfit to be headmaster here, which only a select few of us know is a lie. Everyone else seems to have turned on Dumbledore; they think he's absolutely mad._

_Harry, Ron, and I have this Defense Against the Dark Arts group that we've organized, but Umbridge wants to disband all meetings and clubs that aren't approved by her. I doubt we'd get an approval, seeing as we're supporting the very thing she's against._

_She doesn't want us to learn real Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, we can "learn" about it, but we can't practice it, even though practicing it is how people generally learn things. She says that it's too dangerous for children to try out at such a young age. Harry took down Voldemort as a baby and we can't try out defensive magic! Everything's so insane._

_That's just it, though. The Ministry of Magic doesn't want anyone to believe Voldemort's back because it would soil their reputation as the best defense for the witches and wizards of the world. They want everyone to think that they've got everything under control. Absolute rubbish, if you ask anyone with a shred of sanity in their minds._

_Harry saw Voldemort come back last year and I believe him wholeheartedly. I believe what he saw was true. I don't doubt it for a moment. And if poor Cedric had lived to tell the tale, he would tell everyone that he saw him, too. I just know he would. Cedric would side with Harry after everything. They were friends and allies in that game, regardless of whether or not it was a competition. Cedric was too honest to lie about something so important; I just wish he was here to provide another witness._

_Umbridge believes that we do have a Defense Against the Dark Arts group arranged. We call ourselves Dumbledore's Army, or the DA for short (name courtesy of Ginny). I'm so glad that so many students turned up to fight for the right thing. We've got all kinds of people ― except we don't have any Slytherins._

_You see, since Umbridge is absolutely convinced that we're plotting against her, she's organized this group called the "Inquisitorial Squad," named so after her, the High Inquisitor. They're just like prefects, except they have the power to dock points from other students if they feel like they're misbehaving. I think anyone could probably tell where this is going._

_There are only a few members in the Inquisitorial Squad because they're handpicked by the Head Toad herself. If they feel like someone is disobeying the rules, then they can dock points. Like I said before, you can tell where this is going. The members of the Inquisitorial Squad have been docking points from innocent students if they felt like doing it. They come up with the stupidest reasons for doing it, too; I got docked a few points because I was "rude" about Umbridge and because I was also a mudblood, all courtesy of one Draco Malfoy._

_I'm trying my best not to worry too much about it. I mean, we've got bigger problems to deal with. As I keep saying, Malfoy and I have come to a bit of a common ground, and though neither of us particularly like the other, we're both keeping secrets for each other, just out of common courtesy. The secret of mine that he has about Dumbledore's Army is irrelevant now, because Umbridge already suspects it's there. He doesn't know much about it otherwise. The secret of his that I'm keeping about his family doesn't seem tempting at all for me to share with anyone, because at this point, it's the only thing that I can really hold onto as evidence that he isn't heartless, even though he can be a bit cruel sometimes...it's just a nice reminder that he's a not-bad person who just does bad things, naturally._

_And with a potential conspiracy looming over our heads here at Hogwarts, I think that what Draco Malfoy's doing should be the least of my troubles._

_― Hermione_

Hermione set her diary down and sighed. She tried to avoid it, she knew that she did . . . but she wrote yet _another _message in it pertaining to Malfoy.

It never mattered what she _tried _to focus on. There were more pressing matters at hand, but she couldn't stop it. She was honestly beginning to believe what Dumbledore had said; that she might actually befriend Malfoy. She felt like she was believing it more and more each day, and to be honest, she was hoping it was true.

She didn't hate Malfoy anymore, she was fully aware of that by now. She felt as if she simply misunderstood him at first. She was more torn up that it took until her fifth year at Hogwarts to realize it...

Hermione got up from her bed and walked to the door. She had remembered that Quidditch was that day ― she'd have to go and support Ron.

* * *

Hermione made her way to a row of bleachers that was close to the front. She watched the Quidditch team walk out onto the pitch. She smiled, remembering the days when Harry was so young and became Gryffindor's new seeker, before he had to worry about what was happening with Voldemort and the Ministry. . . .

Comparatively, not many people had showed up to watch this game. There were a few people scattered here and there, but there weren't huge crowds. Hermione felt this would be a nice relief for the players, but some appeared to be disappointed that they wouldn't be able to prove themselves in front of a wider audience.

Hermione looked across the field. A few Slytherins were grouped together, with what looked like a homemade banner that read "Weasley Is Our King." She scanned the crowd to find it comprised of Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. _No Draco Malfoy_. A couple of other Slytherins were around the group as well, but she didn't recognize them. Still, _no Draco Malfoy._ She raised her eyebrows curiously at this revelation, but just assumed that he still wasn't well, although she could've sworn that it was only caused by dread that she might tell everyone about his family problems...

Hermione glanced to her right, noticing a brunette Slytherin girl standing beside the bench row. She immediately recognized the girl as Charlotte Butler.

"Er . . . hi," said Charlotte, smiling nervously. "Could I ― could I maybe join you?"

Hermione smiled. She had recently forgotten all about House rivalries and such, thanks to her potential growing friendship with Malfoy. "Of course, please, sit down."

Charlotte sat beside Hermione and looked across the pitch at the group of Slytherins. "Sorry about them," she said. "I know Weasley's your friend . . . they just do things like that. . . ."

"It's fine," said Hermione, shrugging. "We just learn to ignore it after a while. I mean, they aren't hurting anyone _physically _or anything . . . it's just being spiteful." Hermione eyed Charlotte curiously for a moment. "Not to be rude or anything, but ― why aren't you with them?"

"For that very reason," Charlotte replied. "I thought they were being immature, so I left and decided to talk with someone who appeared to have a bit more . . . _class_."

Hermione grinned. "Thank you. I've noticed that you're not quite like them all. . . ."

"Oh, not at all," said Charlotte, giggling. "My entire family was in Ravenclaw, so this came as a bit of a shock, really. . . ." She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but . . . I'm not even a pureblood."

"I like you all the more for it," said Hermione, laughing. "Not that I don't like _some _purebloods; I mean, take Ron for example ―" Hermione winced as he nearly fell off of his broom, dodging a rogue Bludger.

"_Weasley's _a pureblood?" asked Charlotte. "I never would've guessed. . . ."

"Most people wouldn't," said Hermione. "His parents are very fond of Muggles, particularly his father. . . ."

Charlotte seemed happy with this information. "That's not really a bad thing, though, isn't it? I wish more people in Slytherin ignored blood status, it's just such petty cause for arguments now. . . . It's hard to find other Slytherins who feel the same way, even if there's muggleborn and halfblood Slytherins out there."

"It doesn't surprise me," said Hermione. "It's usually their parents, right? They raise their children to believe that anyone who's not a pureblood is somehow inferior."

"Which isn't true at all," said Charlotte, "judging by the marks you get in school."

Hermione blushed and smiled. "Thank you ― that's very nice of you. From what I've heard, you're quite smart yourself."

"Hm?" Charlotte was temporarily fixated on one of the players. "Oh, well ― I just make high marks in _some _classes, like Potions and things. . . ."

"Slytherins always seem to be good at Potions," said Hermione, smiling.

"We love Professor Snape," said Charlotte. "He's our Head of House, we're _bound _to prefer his classes over others. . . . I'm sure Gryffindors love Professor McGonagall, as well?"

"Naturally," said Hermione. "Just our House pride coming in." She glanced over the pitch and noticed that the players began to disperse. "Oh, I guess the game's finished. . . . Hufflepuff won." She sighed, but stood up and smiled at Charlotte. "Well, it was very nice to talk with you."

"Same to you," said Charlotte, as she stood up. "Have a nice evening!"

* * *

Hermione waited in her usual spot in the school corridors, just outside of the Great Hall. She'd soon be able to figure out why Malfoy wasn't there; that is, if he decided that he'd speak today.

Harry was a little put off the entire day because he was no longer allowed to participate in Quidditch, all thanks to the school's lovely High Inquisitor and Headmistress, Professor Umbridge. Still, he supported Ron in his ventures to participate, as did Hermione, who would never have a chance of making the team; she was dreadful at Quidditch.

She looked up to see the familiar figure of Draco Malfoy making his way towards her. She remembered that he, too, was fairly good at Quidditch, when he was a Seeker for Slytherin, regardless of whether she thought he had bought his way in or not. He was built slightly smaller than most of the other boys his age. It wasn't a bad thing, of course, because it really did come in handy when trying to catch the Snitch ― even if Harry almost always caught it when he was playing.

"Hello again," said Hermione, when Malfoy stopped in front of her. "You weren't at the game today."

Malfoy looked slightly shocked that she noticed, although he tried to prepare himself for it. She was, after all, Hermione Granger, and she'd notice things like that. "Well ― yeah. I still wasn't feeling all too well. . . ."

"If it's been going on for days, you should probably see Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, smirking. She knew very well enough that he wasn't _really _sick ― he was just sick of people.

"It's not that serious," said Malfoy, affirming her idea. "I think I've just been a little restless . . . losing sleep, you know?"

Hermione began walking, cueing him to join her.

"I hope everything's all right," she said, "if you're losing sleep."

"Oh, it's nothing ― nothing too important," he said. "I've just been a bit tired lately. It really doesn't matter. I'm just tired."

"Well, okay," she said, smiling. She didn't know why, but she felt just a tad happier. Maybe it was because he was trying to shut her out again, and she rather enjoyed the game of trying to get him to open up again. "Oh, and I'm sorry I grabbed your hand the other night ago, I was just so shocked that you'd apologize ―"

"Don't mention it," he said, flatly, although Hermione could notice a tinge of pink near his ears. "I thought we were over that. And I don't care that you grabbed my hand, I probably needed some sense knocked into me anyway ―" The pink soon ran through the rest of his face, and he shook his head. "Doesn't matter, you wouldn't care ―"

"About what?" asked Hermione. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Malfoy leaned against a wall and looked at her. "You've been, er . . . pretty good at keeping secrets, right?"

"I haven't said a word to anyone about it," Hermione replied, "and I don't intend to."

"Right," said Malfoy, looking down at his feet. "Well, I just wanted to let you know ― after all, I apologized to you, I could go a bit further with it ― I'm kind of, er . . . glad . . . that someone knows everything. . . ."

"You are?" asked Hermione. She stood beside him and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"Well, yeah," he said. "This is probably too sudden, right? I just never felt like . . . I never felt like I could tell someone so much, you know. . . . Diaries are for prats. . . ." Hermione blushed slightly, but remained silent so that he could continue. "Even if it _is _you, and I never wanted to tell you in the first place . . . I'm glad someone knows."

Hermione looked slightly shocked. "No one ― no one ever knew?"

"Not one," he said, "except, of course, me and my family. None of my friends know anything. Not even Pansy, who you'd think could get everything out of me," he added, with a dry laugh.

"Not even your girlfriend," said Hermione, subconsciously.

"She's _not _my girlfriend," said Malfoy, with a small smile growing on his face. "You should know that more than anyone."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, yeah, right . . . well, I'm pleased to know that you're happy with everything. . . ."

"Very," he said. "It's good to get things like that off of your chest. . . ." He looked at her intently for a few moments.

Hermione flushed redder and took a deep breath. "Again, I'm happy that you're happy," she said, turning her face away in a vain attempt to mask her blush. She felt as if she might die from the awkwardness, she just wanted it to end as quickly as possible. . . .

"You know, Granger," he began, "for a mudblood, you're pretty cool."

Hermione blinked. She didn't know what he was saying at that point. She felt insulted, but complimented. . . . He was becoming more and more confusing, and she didn't like it. She just assumed that it was a force of habit of his to call her a mudblood, and a force of habit of hers to react with confusion. . . .

"Er . . . thanks," she said, trying to smile. "Th ― thank you?"

"You're welcome," he said, smirking. It seemed like every night he found a new way to get back into control. "Well, an apology and a compliment; that's two for you, Granger."

"Yeah," she said, awkwardly. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am," he said, walking closer to her. He stood directly in front of her and smiled. "Maybe we could . . . I don't know . . . hang out sometime?"

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"As peers, you idiot," he said, his tone more playful than condescending.

"Well. . . ." Hermione was completely lost. She didn't know what to believe about him anymore ― his opinions and moods seemed to change every few minutes, and she didn't like it at all. He had gained control again, and there was no way for her to win at this point. "Where would we be going ― ?"

"Hogsmeade," he whispered. "Not on a school field trip, but at night. _Above _Hogsmeade. We could sneak out."

"I don't like where this is going," said Hermione.

"I'd just pick you up at your common room's window when everyone else is asleep and no one would notice," he said, pleased with her confusion.

Hermione shook her head. "Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get in?"

"You know what, I don't care." He leaned in to her ear. "You've _got _to learn to live a little. Get over yourself. Come on, G —" He stopped himself from using the name he knew so well. He instead smirked and cocked his head to the side. "_Hermione_." He didn't attempt to hide the fact that he noticed her pink-tinted face turning redder at the simple utterance of her name. He knew he had her. He knew he had won. "Let's raise just a_ little_ hell."

"I don't know," Hermione groaned. She was a bit wary of this side of Malfoy, because the Malfoy she knew would never ask her to hang out, even as peers . . . but her Gryffindor sense of adventure wanted to come out, and she couldn't resist. "I'll ― yeah, we can hang out. . . ."

Malfoy grinned, satisfied with his victory. "All right. In a couple of days, I'll wait outside of the Gryffindor common room's window on my broomstick around midnight or so. You'll get on there and we'll fly around for a few minutes. Nothing major."

"Why do you want to do this in the first place?" asked Hermione, not pleased at all with her subconscious decision.

"Because," he began, "I enjoy talking to people that don't try to convince me to let them slip into my bed every night. The girls are allowed to enter the boys' dorms, you know," he added, laughing.

Hermione smiled weakly. She had given in. She scowled as she watched his confident walk ahead of her; he was clearly impressed with himself for convincing her to hang out with him. He said it was only as peers, but after all of the time of being enemies, Hermione wasn't quite sure what to think.

But she enjoyed befriending him, right? She felt like every patrol, they grew a bit closer. Not necessarily as friends, but the bond between them was tighter. They came to an understanding of each other. She never thought it would manifest itself in this way, though. . . .

She didn't really know who was playing the game at this point, but Hermione felt like they both had strategies to win. Win what, she was unsure of; but she never backed down from a challenge, and was prepared to let the games begin.


	7. Chapter 7

It was still dark out, being the wee hours of the morning. The room felt so cold and uncomfortable in comparison to the dream that felt so warm and uplifting. _But was it a dream?_

No, it wasn't a dream. He had asked Hermione Granger out, whether it was "as peers" or not.

Draco lay still on his back in his four-poster bed, looking up at the inside of the dark emerald canopy that was above him. He smirked. He knew it'd kill her to call it a date. What did you call it, then, a teenaged boy and girl sneaking out at night to ride the boy's broomstick?

All jokes aside, that was exactly what it was. Friends didn't sneak out like that, did they? . . . And were they friends to begin with, anyway?

He considered referring to it as a date the next time he saw her. It'd be a good laugh. Although, she might call it quits then. It was all a game . . . the game of who could keep their hearts hardened to the other the longest. And to be honest, he'd been losing since First Year.

There was something about her. Something he didn't like. As soon as he met her he knew she'd be competition. She was brilliant. She was popular. She was _different_. Not just from him, the poster child for purebloods. No, she was different in her own right. She was Hermione Granger, the muggleborn Gryffindor who never seemed to have much trouble with surpassing him in everything. She achieved everything his parents would've wanted him to do.

That's when he realized that he had met his match. At eleven years old, he knew he found her. He'd never met someone who could exceed his parents' expectations for him. His parents had always told him to find a girl that was evenly matched with him. She had already passed that level . . . and that was perfect. He thought that his parents would feel the same way . . . but then he talked to them about her. That day was burned into his memory. He would never forget it, him being so young and naïve to their _real _expectations . . .

_"Any new friends?" asked Narcissa, smiling at Draco from her seat on the couch. He was in the nearest chair in front of the fireplace._

_Draco shook his head lightly. "Just some other kids in Slytherin . . . not too many, though . . . I mainly stuck with Crabbe and Goyle."_

_Narcissa raised her eyebrows, but in a casual way. "Vincent and Gregory, you mean?" When Draco nodded, she continued. "Your father and I were so proud that you were sorted into Slytherin . . . not that we expected anything else," she added, with a light chuckle. "I can't wait until you start playing Quidditch, your father was so good in his day . . . I daresay you might surpass even his talents," she said, winking._

_"I hope so," said Draco, grinning at her._

_Narcissa took a sip from the teacup beside her on the end table. "So, no new _friends._ . . . Any, er, _girlfriends_?_

_Draco's eyes shifted to the side as his face flushed pink. He knew she'd notice. "I don't ― I don't care about girls ―"_

_"Draco," said Narcissa slowly, flashing him a knowing smile. "It's just me, silly." She smirked, laying her hand on his knee. "There _is _a girl, isn't there?_

_"Maybe," Draco stammered, blushing harder than before. "She ― she's really smart. . . ."_

_Narcissa nodded and grinned. "Well, that's good. . . ."_

_"She's also really nice," he said, gaining the confidence to smile and look up at his mother. His face fell a bit as he thought. "But . . . she's in Gryffindor," he said._

_Narcissa pulled a thoughtful face, but then smiled. "Well, that's not _bad_, is it? . . . Oh . . . you just don't get to talk to her as much."_

_"Right," said Draco, nodding. "But she's in a lot of my classes. . . . She's the best student in our year, hands down. Like I said, she's really smart. . . . "_

_"You are too," Narcissa reminded him. Draco smiled and she continued. "So . . . what's her name?"_

_"Hermione," he replied. He quickly turned his head to see his father standing beside the chair he was in. Mortified, he slumped down in his seat._

_"Don't be embarrassed," said a smiling Lucius, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Everyone gets these, er . . . _crushes_." He paused for a moment, allowing Draco to regain his composure. "Now," he said, after Draco seemed like he was over his embarrassment, "what did you say her name was again?"_

_"Hermione," said Draco, "Hermione Granger. She's the best in our year, and she's really nice. . . . "_

_Lucius sat in thought for a few moments before speaking again. "I don't think I recognize that name," he said._

_"Oh, yeah, I forgot!" said Draco, shaking his head. "You _wouldn't _know her name because she's Muggle-born."_

_Lucius' grip on his son's shoulder tightened slightly, and then loosened. "Muggle-born, did you say?"_

_"Yeah," Draco replied. "That's why you don't know her name ―"_

_"Lucius," said Narcissa, sternly._

_"It needs to be said," said Lucius. "It's time." He sat down on the couch beside Narcissa, who looked as if she might've been sick, even though she knew this day was coming. "Son," he began, "when I told you that there were some wizarding families that were better than others before your First Year . . . I wasn't just referring to blood-traitors who don't seem to show any true wizarding pride; I was also referring to any families that weren't Pureblood._

_"You see, our family is one of the only remaining pureblood families around. That means that we have absolutely no trace of tainted blood ― that is to say, non-wizarding blood ― in our family. And like most other Pureblood families, we intend to keep it that way._

_"So about this girl . . . if she's muggleborn, she isn't as good as you are, son . . . she's what we call a _mudblood _― "_

_"Lucius!" Narcissa snarled. "I don't think that sort of language ―"_

_"He has the right to know," said Lucius, narrowing his eyes at his wife. He then turned to Draco again. "I don't know _how _a girl with Muggle parents is making such high marks in a wizarding school, but . . . I want you to do even better. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes, father," whispered a trembling Draco, who was currently fighting back tears at the seemingly-uncalled for insults._

_"Who does this girl spend her time with, anyway?" Lucius asked._

_"Potter," Draco croaked. "Harry Potter."_

_Lucius nodded. "And he refused your friendship, correct?"_

_"Yes," Draco replied, "even though I remember you asked me to be friends with him. He didn't want to be. . . . "_

_"I see," said Lucius, now standing up. He stood directly in front of Draco, who looked as if he didn't know whether to turn pale or to flush red. "Then I don't want you associating with this girl anymore on a friendly basis. Her friend refusing your friendship ― which really is surprising, to be quite honest ― and the fact that she's a muggleborn. . . . You're better than this, Draco. You're better than _her_. I don't care how smart or nice or pretty she may be. In the meantime, if I were you, I'd turn my attention ― and my affections ― elsewhere."_

And that was the end of it, right? It didn't matter how much you liked the girl; if your father said no, you had to say no as well.

Draco never regretted doing something more in his entire life.

He had called her names. He had insulted everything about her. He called her ugly. He called her worthless. He called her "mudblood." And yet, it didn't matter . . . to him, anyway. They were all empty words. They were meaningless. He was honestly surprised that someone as smart as her could believe that he was genuine. _Well_, he thought, _some of the smartest people in the world are the most naïve_.

He turned on his side, pulling the warm comforter closer to his face. He was more than pleased with himself. He honestly didn't know how he managed to convince her.

_Must be that Malfoy charm_, he thought. _She had to give in sometime, every other girl did. . . . _

He noticed the sunlight started to come through the windows and grinned. He couldn't sleep anyway, and now he could go down to breakfast and see the look on Hermione's face; she was probably livid. He liked when she looked angry. In a way, it was almost cute. And he knew she had the potential to be pretty after that Yule Ball. . . . So why not give her another opportunity to look her best, even if it _was _when she felt her worst?

He slipped out of his four-poster, pushing aside the curtains. He got dressed as quickly as possible, resulting in his shoes being on the wrong feet and his sweater vest backwards. He switched shoes, thinking about how ridiculous he would look to the other Fifth Year guys if they were awake. . . .

After checking his appearance in the mirror, combing and styling his hair to perfection, and putting on his favorite Malfoy scowl, he left his dormitory, believing himself to be the first Slytherin out of the dormitory; until he found Pansy Parkinson seated in the common room, looking up at him as he descended the steps with a look of disappointment on her face.

"You know we never talk anymore, right?" she said.

Draco took a deep breath. A perfect morning had gone so wrong, so quickly. "You know I don't mean to. I sit by you in every class, don't I? I sit with you at every mealtime, don't I? We talk then ―"

Pansy got to her feet and quickly strode towards Draco. "You know what I mean."

"Do I?" said Draco, raising his eyebrows. "Maybe we're talking less than I thought ―"

"What's gotten _into _you, Draco?" she asked, shaking her head. "You always look sick, and you never want to hang out anymore, and I just want my Draco back. . . ."

"What's gotten into you, then?" Draco asked, but in a much softer tone in comparison to Pansy's accusatory one.

Pansy put her hands on his shoulders, her body against his, as she leaned into his ear and dropped her voice to a barely-audible whisper. "You have, and I miss that, Draco."

As she pulled her head back to face him, he looked her in the eyes, their noses touching. "I think we could debate for a while over exactly who initiated that."

"It's all the same," said Pansy. "Doesn't really matter, does it? We both wanted it. . . . I still do."

She pulled him into a kiss that seemed like it lasted for ages. He was used to it by now. She had been a fun little plaything, but . . . he never really _loved _her. He wondered if this was how every kiss would feel, or if he just hadn't found the right person to experience it with. Not to mention intimacy; that was an entirely different matter. He didn't even understand why people would wait for something that seemed so worthless; _then again_, he thought, _maybe it's just that Pansy's got less good moves than a tranquilized mattress. . . . _

"I love you," she whispered in his ear, after pulling away. "And you love me too, right?"

"R-right," Draco replied. "Of course. . . ."

"Then _please _don't ignore me, Draco. . . . Would tonight be all right with you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows at him curiously.

"Oh, y-yeah," he stammered, nodding frantically.

"See you then, sweetheart," said Pansy, giving him a last, quick kiss before leaving the common room. Draco could've sworn that she wasn't talking quite to his face when she uttered her departing words.

It had been like this ever since that night of the Yule Ball. That was how parties went. Draco had heard stories about Muggle dances, many that involved what happened _after _the dance as opposed to the dance itself. Muggle boys ended up the next morning with hangovers. Muggle girls ended up the next morning pregnant. Of course, Pansy wasn't pregnant, that much was obvious. Contraception charms worked wonders. But it didn't matter; he regretted his actions all the same, even if it didn't have a manifested consequence. . . .

_So many regrets._

He slipped his hands in his pockets and left the common room, where he thought that he might regain some of the day's beginning happiness.

* * *

When he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast, he was shocked to find that the source of the happiness had made its way downstairs so quickly. Hermione Granger was already seated at the Gryffindor table, poring over some book she had probably read countless times, and absentmindedly swirling around the spoon that was in her cereal bowl.

Seeing as there were no other students in the Great Hall yet ― Pansy was nowhere to be found, she evidently didn't go straight down to breakfast ― he seized the opportunity.

He walked as silently up to her as he could, smirking the entire way. She was so engrossed in the stupid book that she wouldn't even look up at the sound of approaching footsteps.

He bent down right behind her, put his head on her shoulder, and whispered "Morning, Granger" in a jokingly seductive voice.

She jumped, knocking her cereal bowl all over the book. She quickly picked it up, scowling at a laughing Malfoy.

"You're lucky that wasn't a library book!" she snarled.

"Oh, yeah?" said Malfoy, grinning and sitting down beside her. "And what would you do then, hm?"

"I ― the book ― it'd be ruined!"

"Right," he said. "It's just a book." To his surprise, he was able to maintain eye contact with her for a few moments before he said, "Let me help you with that," snapping him out of his trance.

_Trance_. The word made him feel uncomfortable, like she was hypnotic. She wasn't _that _attractive, was she? He was just caught up in the moment, that was all.

He leaned over the table and grabbed a napkin. He began to dab the book gently; thankfully the book wasn't _completely _ruined.

"Could I ask you what this book is?" he asked, looking up at her again.

Hermione surveyed him for a moment, and then nodded. "Yes, of course you could. It's my copy of _Hogwarts, a History_. I've had it since I was eleven. . . . Oh no, the book's going to smell for _ages._ . . ."

"I'm sorry," he said, quickly. "But if you've had it since you were eleven, then _why _are you taking the time to read it now ― ?"

"I've read it dozens of times," she said, a small smile forming on her lips. "I read it often, just to keep track of things. . . ."

Malfoy grinned. "Ah, so _that's _how you know how to cause so much trouble around here!" he said. "I might have to dock some more points from you, Granger."

"Don't be stupid," she snapped, before picking up on his sarcasm and laughing.

"Well, I certainly hope you'll get that naivety out of your system before our little date, Granger," Malfoy muttered, standing up from his seat and smirking at her.

He chuckled lightly to himself, amused with the various cries of opposition from Hermione. He was right; she would hate it if he called it a date. So why wouldn't he?

* * *

Hermione left that evening's DA meeting excited for the future of their group. The progress they were making was astounding. . . . They had begun work on Patronus Charms, and she had managed a true Patronus . . . a silvery-blue otter, that bounded around the room without a care in the world, a little creature that played around much like a mouse or even a ferret ―

_Ferret. Malfoy. Date._

She closed her eyes in the attempt to regain some sanity, and leaned up against the wall to let the rest of the DA members pass her.

_Date._

It wasn't a date, though! People who hated each other didn't go on _dates_; that was for those stupid, unrealistic romance novels, some of the only books she wouldn't _ever_ read. Enemies didn't become friends overnight, unless they suddenly decided to fight for the same cause ―

"You're _still _hanging out with that group of goody-two-shoes, Granger?"

Hermione turned her head aside to see the familiar face that belonged to that cold, drawling voice, which she could've sworn had just a _hint_ of warmth in it now; he was grinning, not maliciously, but in a friendly, normal way. To Malfoy's side was Charlotte, who smiled at Hermione.

"Hi, Hermione!" she said.

"You two doing your rounds?" Hermione asked, returning the smile to the both of them.

"Oh, no," said Malfoy, "we were just walking around, we don't have to do rounds, necessarily. . . ." He turned to Charlotte and tapped her shoulder. "You can go on ahead, if you want."

"Oh, right, thanks. Bye, Hermione!" she called as she walked off.

"She has a meeting with one of the teachers soon," Malfoy explained. "I wasn't just getting rid of her."

They laughed and sat in silence for a few moments, before Malfoy decided to speak. He dropped his voice to a low mutter.

"You know," he said, "I really do think you're fighting a losing battle here. You need to sort out your priorities. . . . You know, with all of your knowledge about Potter? The Inquisitorial Squad could really use someone on the inside ―"

"Thanks, but no thanks," said Hermione, still smiling. "But just so you know, the DA is open to anyone who wishes to join, we could also use someone on the inside ―"

Malfoy shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks. Besides, how would you make sure I wouldn't tell someone about everything you're doing in there?"

"You haven't spilled anything this far," said Hermione, after surveying him briefly. She dropped her voice to a whisper. "I'm pretty skilled with jinxes, if I do say so myself."

"What _aren't_ you good at, Granger?" Malfoy asked, with a soft smile. "Well, then we'll agree to disagree?"

"I guess so," said Hermione.

Malfoy smirked. "Hopefully, though, we can sort out those differences before that date, right?"

He walked off laughing, regardless of Hermione's protests. He kept referring to it as a date . . . it _wasn't _a date! . . . And yet, against her own will, the concern began to slowly dissolve.

He, on the other hand, was glad that his day had quickly picked up, even if it meant that all he had left to look forward to was another night being smothered by Pansy. There was always the thought of what made him happy, what made him forget worries like that . . . and that was the unlikeliest of people, Hermione Granger, who seemed to dissolve every care in the world of his and replace it with something else he could care about. It wasn't that he cared for her in _that _way . . . he just was slowly beginning to care for her as a person, maybe as a friend. . . . He couldn't risk falling in love with her again, that'd be dangerous. Fire and ice. They didn't mix. . . . But he had done too many things he regretted. Many were things he did to _her _that he regretted. . . . And he was willing to take a risk, if only just this once.


	8. Chapter 8

Hermione had never felt more watched. It was a strange feeling, like someone was seeing everything you were doing and their intent was completely unknown to you. No matter where she went, she couldn't shake the feeling. It was as if that person just happened to be everywhere she was. . . . In fact, that was exactly it. That person really _was _everywhere she tried to go. It was awkward, yes, but what could she say? Even if she hated the person, it was a bit uncomfortable accusing them of stalking to their face, and it might embarrass them . . . and she was the better person. She couldn't do that, not when other people where around.

She tried desperately to keep her gaze fixed on the Potions essay she was writing. It didn't help that the library was always so quiet. Of course, it helped her study, but it just added to the feeling of discomfort, and she couldn't focus on the homework anyway. The feeling of being watched was too distracting to focus on anything at all, really.

She wondered if they had something to say to her. Something that was important . . . for them, anyway. She briefly went through the list of people that might have a bone to pick with her in her mind. The person didn't seem like they wanted her to notice them. Whenever she would gain the nerve to look up and see if she could make eye contact with them, they were gone.

As she began to pack up her homework (knowing that the Gryffindor common room ― although occasionally loud ― would shake the person if they weren't in that House), she hoped that maybe the person would just show their face and get it all over with . . . or maybe she'd have to find them first.

She slung her book bag around her shoulder, her eyes darting to where she last felt the other person's gaze was coming from; it was from behind a bookshelf, a few rows down from where she was seated to work. Maybe she wouldn't go to the Gryffindor common room just yet. The person wasn't looking anymore, but if she moved quickly, she might catch them before they leave. . . .

She did a strange sort of half-tiptoe, half-run towards the person's location, careful not to make any sounds that would certainly not be allowed in the library. As she hurried down the aisle, she thought that she caught a glimpse of a grey skirt around a corner.

_Okay, so it's a girl._

She sped up, praying that the person wouldn't leave the library and get lost in the sea of Hogwarts students in the corridors. She could now see the girl from behind. She had long, brunette hair, she knew that much, but she couldn't see any evidence of what House she was in. It didn't matter at this point. She was positive that it was the same person who had been staring at her all day. . . .

She sprinted, rather silently, until she caught up with the girl. The girl didn't show any signs of stopping; Hermione gently gripped her arm and turned her around, so she could get a glimpse of her face. The upturned nose and permanently irritated expression were unmistakable.

It was Pansy Parkinson.

"What the hell, Granger?" Pansy hissed, wearing a look that suggested that she'd give anything to be anywhere else right now.

"I might ask you the same thing," Hermione whispered, with an equally poisonous tone. "Why have you been watching me all day?"

Pansy's eyes drifted aside, and Hermione's grip on her arm tightened slightly.

"I haven't been," said Pansy, with a small shrug. "You always assume it's me, don't you?"

"You were just there," said Hermione. "You were watching me. I know you were. I just want to know _why_."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Well, if you'd _let go of me_, then I'll explain."

"And you won't run away?" Hermione asked.

"I promise," Pansy said, with a rather sarcastic air. "Why would I run away if I wanted to ask you something, anyway? But could we . . . could we maybe go . . . somewhere _else_?"

Hermione slowly removed her hand from Pansy's arm, but kept her eyes on Pansy all the same. Pansy's agitated expression soon turned into one of apparent nervousness.

"You can't just tell me here?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Pansy sighed. "Fine."

Pansy now grabbed Hermione's arm, practically dragging her over to a corner of the library. She pushed her into the wall, but not as hard as Hermione thought that she might like to.

"I don't think you noticed," said Pansy, through gritted teeth, "but I saw you two this morning."

"I ― I beg your pardon?" said Hermione.

Pansy rolled her eyes again. "You know what I'm talking about, Granger. You and Draco, talking like ― a bit like ― like _friends_." She looked disgusted, as if the words tasted foul in her mouth.

"Like friends," Hermione repeated slowly. She shook her head and looked Pansy in the eyes. "Look, Pansy. I'm not the slightest bit interested. How many times do we have to have this conversation before you realize that I really could care less about Malfoy?"

"Well, you don't do a very good job of showing it," Pansy snarled. "Not that he'd ever go for a Mudblood like you, obviously . . . his tastes are too good for that."

Hermione snorted. "All that 'good taste' and he's dating _you_?"

Pansy put her hands on Hermione's shoulders, gripping them tightly. "I don't want a fight, Granger. I just want you to listen to me. I've told you before that I want you to stay away from him. Do you understand me?"

"Well, if he'd never go for a mudblood like me, then why are you so worried?" Hermione asked.

Pansy's eyes widened, her gaze darting frantically about the room, trying to look at anything but Hermione. "I ― he wouldn't ― I don't know ― it's _you_, Granger, I know it ― all girls have their ways ― I don't know ―"

Hermione gave her a sweet, but almost deadly smile, interrupting Pansy's stammers immediately. "I think it might interest you to know that he initiated the conversation this morning, Pansy."

Pansy looked at her now, thoughtfully. "There were napkins, I saw. He was cleaning something that you spilled. . . . What did you throw at him?"

Hermione laughed. "Throw at him? As if he was cleaning his shirt of my mess or something? No, Pansy, he was cleaning a mess that _he _made of _my _things."

"He'd never clean your things up, even if he ―"

"But he _did_, and it was rather nice, actually," said Hermione.

Pansy seemed at a loss for words. "If I ask him, he'll tell me what _really _happened ―"

"Are you really going to ask him, though?" Hermione asked. "Don't you think it would turn him off just a tad to hear that you were watching what he was doing? He might think that you're _stalking _him, and I know you wouldn't want that. No boy I know wants a girl who stalks him."

The two girls stared each other down for a few moments. Hermione had never felt so powerful . . . it was a great feeling. She decided she'd have to try talking like this more often. As she registered this new sensation in her mind, her gaze drifted over Pansy's shoulder and landed on a pair of familiar figures that were a bit further off.

"Another thing that you might find interesting," said Hermione, breaking the silence, "is that I'm not the only girl he seems to talk to when you're not around."

Pansy looked over her shoulder, acknowledging what Hermione had seen. She was dumbstruck. Her eyes widened almost immediately at the sight, and she looked back to Hermione quickly, as if to check if it was real or not.

Malfoy was leaned up against a wall of the library, in a place that was not easily visible unless you were standing near where Pansy and Hermione now stood. Beside him was Charlotte, who appeared to be saying multiple things that were making him laugh. Hermione noticed ― and assumed that Pansy did as well ― that Charlotte was frequently laying her hand on Malfoy's arm, or letting her fingers drift to her hair, or biting her lip slightly. Malfoy didn't seem bothered in the slightest . . . and why should he? He was dating Pansy, and this was an obvious improvement.

Still, Hermione was also a bit shocked, although slightly amused at Pansy's utter bewilderment. She never thought of Malfoy as a cheater . . . well, maybe she did. He did seem like the type, now that she thought of it. But to act like this so openly was probably more shocking.

_Maybe he wanted Pansy to see him with another girl._

But that'd just make his life hell. She'd just nag him about it, and spread nasty rumors, and this kind of freedom wasn't worth that price. No, it probably _wasn't _intended for Pansy to see. Malfoy didn't exactly appear to be flirting back, did he? He was just being polite, or maybe Charlotte just happened to be really funny. . . . She was the one that was doing all of the flirting, really. She seemed romantically interested. Hermione wasn't quite sure how she felt about that.

She knew that Charlotte refused to sit with the other Slytherins at the last Quidditch game . . . but Malfoy wasn't there that day. Maybe she would've sat with him, had he been there. Hermione began to wonder just how long this crush had lasted . . . and why she even cared in the first place.

"That girl's a blood traitor," said Pansy, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. "You can tell. I'm pretty sure she's a pureblood, but she seems pretty sympathetic with . . . with you, actually." She examined Hermione for a moment. "Maybe . . . maybe it's _not _you who's flirting with him, is it?"

"_Now _you get it?" Hermione said, exasperated.

Pansy looked as if she just had an epiphany. "So you've been . . . _that's _why you've been talking to Draco! You're not trying to date him, after all! You're just setting him up with Charlotte!" She ignored Hermione's stammers of protest, now eying Charlotte with a dangerous look. "You're friends with her, aren't you? And I bet you've gotten to know Draco pretty well on these shifts, haven't you? You thought that they'd be perfect together ―"

"Pansy, I promise, I didn't set them up!" Hermione near-squealed, causing Pansy to look at Hermione curiously. Hermione immediately lowered her voice. "They're not even hugging, or snogging, or anything that might even _suggest _that they're seeing each other! They're just talking ―"

"I'm going to go talk to him," Pansy huffed, as she turned towards the pair to greet them, in what Hermione expected to be a rather harsh way.

Hermione tagged behind her, unsure of what in the world compelled her to do so. "No, Pansy, you can't do that, there'll be a fight and something bad ―"

Hermione was cut off once again, this time simply by a face. Draco was looking at Hermione with a slightly agitated expression. She wasn't sure at all what he was upset about, but wasn't going to ask him in front of a group.

It must've been a peculiar sight; three Slytherins and a Gryffindor, all staring at each other, all unsure of what to say. Thankfully, Charlotte seemed to gain the courage to speak first, after she had backed away from Draco a bit.

"Draco and I were just discussing Quidditch," she said, smiling. "You know, with all of the games coming up, it seemed like a nice topic for conversation. . . . But did you need something, Pansy? . . . Oh, hello, Hermione," Charlotte added, after noticing that she was there.

Hermione smiled weakly and turned to Pansy, who currently had her arms folded and was glaring at Malfoy. "I just saw a couple of my _friends _talking together and I thought I might join the conversation," she said, through gritted teeth.

"Oh, of course!" said Charlotte. The smile on her face didn't fade at all, even with Pansy's clearly negative attitude. "Were you and Hermione talking just now? I didn't think that you were friends ―"

"We're not," Pansy snarled. Finally catching herself being rude to a fellow Slytherin in front of Draco, she took a few moments to calm down slightly. "I just had something to ask her, that's all. Trivial things."

As the two girls went on lying to each other about conversations that never exactly went in that direction, Hermione happened to glance at Malfoy. His face looked blank, if not a little bored, like this was just usual behavior from girls that he had to deal with. His gaze remained fixed on Pansy as she was rambling about an imaginary Divination question that she had for Hermione, which mostly anyone else could tell was a lie simply by the fact that Hermione didn't even take Divination. Still, Charlotte seemed convinced from the looks of it, and Malfoy didn't seem to have any inclination to interrupt.

Hermione just remained silent for fear that speaking would just make matters worse for everybody. The last thing she wanted was a fight; the consequences could be terrible. Charlotte began to speak about how she had never really seen Hermione in Divination, but was sure that she must know lots about it from her sheer intelligence. Malfoy's gaze began to lazily drift from Pansy to Charlotte, but seemed to stop midway, where Hermione was standing, facing him.

He locked eyes with Hermione briefly, before she looked away as quickly as she could, desperately searching for some vaguely interesting object that she could distract herself with. But she couldn't help it, and her eyes drifted up to his again, so that she could see his new expression.

Instead of showing boredom from the nearly-catty conversation, his brows were furrowed, as if in thought. He looked at Hermione like she was from a different planet. He looked around, seemingly unsure of what to do and how to react; react to what, Hermione didn't know, but he seemed confused by something. He made eye contact with her again, and looked as if he was attempting to conceal a smirk.

Suddenly, Pansy took Malfoy's arm and began to lead him and Charlotte off and out of the library. Charlotte had whispered a sort of goodbye to Hermione, who simply nodded in response.

Hermione now leaned against the same wall that Malfoy had a few minutes before and peered into the window nearby, wondering if she looked different and he was reacting to that. She noticed that her reflection actually did look slightly different from how she usually thought she did ― her face seemed different, but she couldn't quite place it.

She subconsciously touched her hand to her cheek and shook her head. Her face felt warm, like she had just been running. In fact, her whole body felt like it would after a long run. Her palms were a little sweaty, and so was the back of her neck. She even felt a bit shaky. She was afraid that she was getting sick, but it was really sudden and highly unlikely . . . she just couldn't place the cause at all.

She looked towards the library entrance, where she noticed Harry and Ron entering, both looking rather concerned as they looked at her. They caught up with her quickly enough.

"Hermione?" said Harry, standing in front of her. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, placing a hand to her red cheek.

"Blimey, Hermione, you look sick," said Ron, taking a couple of steps closer to her. "What happened? We saw a couple of Slytherins walking out, did you run into them?"

"Well . . . yes," she finally said. "Yes, I did, but it was nothing major. . . ."

"Did they make you . . . nervous?" Harry asked.

"Nervous?" said Hermione. "Nervous ― no, not at all. No, I just don't know what's wrong ―"

"I was just asking, because you don't look sick ― you look nervous," said Harry.

Hermione blinked. "Why would I be ―"

"Beats me," said Harry.

Hermione replayed the entire situation in her mind. She was talking to Pansy. Pansy saw Charlotte and confronted her. They began to talk. She locked eyes with Malfoy and turned away as quickly as possible. He looked at her like she was crazy. He then looked away. He looked back and smirked at her.

_Oh, for Merlin's sake._

"I'm going to go up to my dormitory now," said Hermione, "and try to get some rest, if I can. Maybe I'm just nervous about the DA or something. It's stressful, you know. I'll just stay up there for a bit."

Harry looked at her curiously for a moment, and then shrugged. "All right, well, we hope you feel better."

"Thank you."

Hermione rushed through the corridors to Gryffindor Tower, ignoring the various greetings from other students along the way. Within a couple of minutes, she was in her dormitory, seated on her bed, with her diary in her lap and her quill frantically scratching a simple note on the paper.

_Dear Diary,_

_I'm getting really nervous around Draco Malfoy, and I really don't like it._

_― Hermione_


	9. Chapter 9

Hermione spent the whole day at school daydreaming, a rather unusual thing for her to do. She had pushed away the confusion of the night before and was now quite cheerful. Maybe she had just woken up on the right side of the bed. Maybe she was pleased with the progress of the DA.

Or maybe she had a new friend.

Regardless of her nerves from yesterday, she really did feel like she was befriending Draco Malfoy. She attributed her nerves simply to this; she was nervous that someone might think that they were extremely close, and that could be dangerous to a lot of people. That was what she convinced herself it was, and since it comforted her, she stuck to it.

They still had a date tonight ― no, not _quite _a date, they weren't dating, of course, they weren't even attracted to each other ― and she was having mixed feelings.

At first, the idea of hanging out with Malfoy freaked her out a bit. It wasn't like him to just casually ask a muggleborn to sneak out at night and fly around Hogsmeade. That wasn't a very normal thing to do, anyway, as far as she was concerned. Maybe it was different for Slytherins. Maybe they did it all the time.

But now, she was perfectly happy with hanging out with him. It would be nice to get out for a little while. It would also give her an opportunity to get to know him a little better, and have a conversation that didn't end in a fight, and learn things about him that didn't showcase his parents' influence. They would be free tonight, free from any judgment for being almost-friends. Her only concern today was that she hadn't seen Harry and Ron since their last class. They didn't even tell her where they'd be going.

_Of course, that's what I'll be doing to them tonight, so I can't really hold it against them._

She rummaged through her clothes trunk to find something to wear for the evening. Since it'd be somewhat cold, she settled on a nice sweater with her favorite pair of jeans. She thought that sneakers would do for the trip as well; she wasn't trying to be sloppy, of course, but she really didn't have anyone to impress, especially if it would just be the two of them, anyway.

Her thoughts slowly began to drift again. What would it be like to go on an actual date? Would she be picking out something dressier, and making more of an effort, like at the Yule Ball? She did have some dressy clothing packed in case one of these days would come, but with the way most guys seemed to treat her, she'd doubt that she'd ever have the opportunity. . . .

After she had changed, she went into the girl's bathroom and examined her appearance. She was glad, at the very least, that she had nice skin; she never really had to wear a whole lot of makeup. She did, however, notice that her eyes were looking a bit dull. Brown was a very sufficient eye color, of course, but she decided they seemed a bit . . . boring. What would it hurt to put a little something extra on them anyway, just to try it? Plus, it'd be dark out, so it'd hardly noticeable anyway. . . .

She looked through her makeup bag and pulled out a small eye shadow palette. She decided on a light cream color, just to brighten up her eyes a bit. It wasn't a major difference, but she thought it made her eyes look nicer.

Her gaze drifted to an eyelash curler next, which she had only used once in her life, at the Yule Ball last year. She decided that this, too, wouldn't hurt, and promptly curled her lashes and coated them with a thin layer of dark brown mascara.

She was overall satisfied with the result, and she felt that it would be unnoticeable, so she wouldn't have to endure Malfoy's taunts about her wearing more makeup.

She then thought about the thick, bushy, tangled mess that her hair usually was. She considered just pulling it into a ponytail or something, but decided that trying the hair potion that she used last year at the Yule Ball might be better, if only to hold it in place; if her hair was in a looser style, after all, it could get so tangled with the wind and become even bushier. She put a small amount of the potion in her hair and slicked it back a little more, eventually tying it up into a neat, but somewhat fluffy bun on the back of her head.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She thought she looked nice enough ― not that it _mattered_, of course. It didn't matter at all. She just wanted to try something out.

She then realized that wearing her casual clothes around the common room this late might raise suspicion. Not from most of the students, as they changed sometimes simply for comfort, but Harry and Ron might want to know why she changed at this hour. She decided that wearing her school robes over the outfit would probably hide most of it, as well as keeping her a little warmer when she went out.

She walked out of her dormitory, finding the common room to be quite empty now, much to her delight. Some people were already in bed, and the rest of the fifth year girls would drift in later, hardly caring about what Hermione was doing.

Her prayers were answered when the girls entered the common room, all giggling about something and heading straight to their dormitory, so that they wouldn't be overheard. Hermione smiled to herself; everything was going so perfectly.

Just then, however, her thoughts were interrupted by the portrait of the Fat Lady swinging open again, allowing Harry and Ron inside. She grinned at them awkwardly and sat down on the couch in front of the fireplace.

"Where have you been?" she asked. "I haven't seen you all afternoon."

"Ran into some trouble," said Ron, sitting beside her.

"Malfoy decided that he and his cronies wanted to pick a fight today," Harry explained, noticing Hermione's perplexed expression. "They thought they might try to bully us into giving them information about any 'secret societies.'"

Hermione was a bit reluctant to speak, but thought that it might ease the conflict within her. "Did he ― did he do anything ― anything violent?"

"Nope," Ron replied. "He actually was talking about _you_."

Her eyes widened and she felt her face going red. "About ― about _me_?"

"Yeah," said Harry, sitting beside Ron. "He said something like, 'I bet Granger would've given in and told me.' I don't know where he got it from, but he seemed a bit angry."

"Er . . . right," she said.

"Has he been doing anything to you, Hermione?" Ron asked. "On patrols? Like attempting to read your mind or anything ― ?"

"No, no," Hermione replied. "I don't think he even knows how to do that."

"Oh!" said Ron suddenly. "I forgot . . . he, er . . . said something _else _about you. . . ."

"What did he say?" Hermione asked, trying not to sound all too eager.

"Well . . ." He looked to Harry, who shrugged and said, "She wants to know; I can tell her, if you'd like."

"Y-yeah," Ron stammered.

Harry turned his gaze to Hermione. "He said something about you _and _him. Like that he wouldn't have to try to get it out of you, but that you'd just give it up willingly, like you wanted to. We got nervous, thinking that maybe he really _had _done something to you. Ron thought an Imperius, but I don't think he's at that level yet ― even if he _was_, performing an Unforgivable Curse in a school would get him in trouble . . . maybe, with the way things are now. He just made it seem like he controlled you, and we didn't really know how to respond to that."

"How did you respond?" Hermione asked.

"Harry and I have . . . er . . . _reasoned_ with him," said Ron. "He won't bother you anymore." He shook his head. "That slimy little git."

Hermione hesitated for a moment. "R-right. Thank you both. I appreciate your help."

Harry smiled. "What are friends for?" And with that, he got up and gave her a hug. "'Night, Hermione. Sleep well. Promise me that you won't think about it too much, all right?" When she nodded, he broke away from the embrace and he and Ron left for their dormitory.

She watched them until they walked out completely, making sure that they wouldn't come back to make another remark or something before she could head to the window without raising any suspicion. She took a few steps forward and wrapped her fingers around the handle to open it.

_Well, this is it._

She opened it as silently as she could and peered out to the ground below. Sure enough, Malfoy was there on the ground, looking up at her and wearing a soft smile. He held his hand out to his side and his broomstick immediately flew up into his grasp. Being careful not to fly into any trees, he flew up to the window and stopped in front of her.

"Evening, Granger," he whispered. He, too, was wearing his school robes over his outfit. He narrowed his eyes at her for a moment, examining her face. "You look different."

Hermione flushed red. "I ― I do? Maybe it's the night ―"

"You're wearing something on your eyes, and your hair is done," he said, smirking. "I notice these things."

She blinked a couple of times, shocked from his observation. "Harry and Ron didn't."

"They didn't, did they?" He raised his eyebrows and glanced at her hair again. "You have a few strands loose, you know."

Her hand subconsciously flew to her hair. "Er . . . right. Yeah, I do, could I ―"

"Leave them that way," he said. "You look fine. I didn't think you cared about your appearance ―"

"I _don't_!" she hissed.

"Then why did you make such an effort?" he teased, holding his hand out to her.

Hermione stared at his open palm for a minute, before she looked back up at him. He also had his hair done, slicked back and parted slightly to the side . . . but she could notice a few stray hairs.

"You've got a few strands loose, too," she said, a smile making its way out.

"You're right," he said, returning the smile. He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up and making it fall naturally. "Mess your hair up, too. I won't feel so bad."

Hermione felt her face going into a full-fledged grin as she shook her hair out of the bun. "So much for that effort. . . ."

"So it _was _an effort!" he said, laughing. "Now, are you going to get on this thing? I can't stay in front of the window all night, you know."

This time she took his open hand, and a shiver ran through her that was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the sensation, and settled herself behind him on the broomstick. Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at her, and she tightly gripped the broomstick. He raised an eyebrow at her and she blushed.

"I ― I sort of ― I have a fear of flying," she said.

"Had I known that, we could've made other arrangements," he said. "You took my hand to get on this thing; you can hold onto me ―" He blushed redder than she had at the mention of her fear of flying. "I ― I mean, if you _need _to, I'm not sure if I want you suffocating me the _entire _time, but ―"

"I can hold onto the back of your robes," she suggested, and he nodded, still blushing slightly.

She gripped his robes as tightly as she could, prepared for when he would begin flying.

"Are you ready?" he asked, not looking at her.

"Yes, I think so," she replied.

"All right, then," he said. "Let's go."

He began to fly slowly, but eventually gained speed and began to fly at a comfortable rate. After a few moments of silence, he looked over his shoulder at her again.

"You doing all right?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied. She was actually quite enjoying the view, and since it was so dark, it was hard to see just how high up she was. "Er . . . I heard you ran into a couple of my friends ―"

"Who, Potter and Weasley?" He scoffed. "They're acting like they're all tough, aren't they?"

"I wouldn't say that, I just mean —"

"In case you're wondering, they just gave petty threats and thought they knocked some sense into me. They walked away before I could do anything else, and to be quite honest, I was glad to be rid of them. Oh ― and sorry about that whole 'controlling you' thing. I had to make up something that would get at them."

There was another silence for a few moments. Hermione looked down at the patch of forest they were flying over and sighed.

"Are you_ sure_ we won't get in trouble?" she asked.

He briefly turned to face her and smiled. "I can't guarantee that, Granger."

"It's _Hermione_," she said, somewhat darkly, "and unlike you, I can't risk getting expelled. I don't want to go back to the Muggle world in the middle of the school year."

He laughed. "You won't have to. I'm sure that Hogwarts isn't the only place to accommodate _the brightest witch of our age_." He turned around again, noticed that her face had flushed red, and smirked. "Well, it's true . . . but you're _so paranoid_. Have a little fun once in a while. What, do you never do things like this?"

Hermione turned even redder. "Just because my idea of fun is different ―"

He raised his eyebrows. "So I'm right, then?"

"Shut up, Malfoy!" she snapped.

"It's _Draco_," he said, smirking, "and the last time I checked, I'm the one that's keeping you stable on this broom. Don't be so whiny and I might not drop you."

"You wouldn't drop me," she said, narrowing her eyes.

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Draco began to tilt the broom heavily from side to side, causing Hermione to scream horribly.

"Shut up, don't be so loud," he said, laughing. "Oh, watch out, it's going out of control!"

He did a complete spiral on the broom, laughing harder than ever. Hermione couldn't watch, but frantically wrapped her arms around his torso and buried her head into the back of his robes, just to get a grip on something.

Knowing she wouldn't see him in her blinded state, he smiled to himself. He never really thought of anything as "adorable" or "beautiful." But the way her brunette curls flowed in the wind, the way her smile lit up the night, the way that she held on to him like he was all she had left . . . _that_ was adorable. _That_ was beautiful. And just like that, he was, yet again, a goner.

Hermione remained in the position for the rest of the trip, barely peeking out at times to see Hogsmeade from above. It really _was _a beautiful night, even if she was too scared to back up and fully appreciate all of it. She couldn't back away, because ―

She now truly realized what position she was in. She had her arms wrapped around Draco Malfoy, and her head was resting on his back.

Her heart began to beat faster and she could feel herself beginning to sweat again, but she didn't pull away. She hoped that maybe he wasn't paying attention, and if she backed away, he might notice.

_Of course he's paying attention, stupid. He's got a bloody human being on his back._

Her thoughts were interrupted when they came to an abrupt stop. She gained the courage to just lift her head, realizing that they were right in front of the window she had snuck out of. It was then that she noticed she had left the window wide open. Thankfully, no one else seemed to have come through the common room.

"We're here," he said, looking over his shoulder at her.

She nodded and pulled her arms back to herself. Taking his hand for stability, she slipped back through the window.

He scratched the back of his neck, staring at her. "Er . . . sorry about that spiral thing, I forgot ―"

"No, no!" Hermione whispered, trying not to wake anyone up. "It wasn't a problem at all. Thanks for letting me hold onto ―"

"Not a problem," he said, his eyes flitting to the side. "Um . . . could I ask you . . . er . . . something . . . ?"

"Oh, yes, of course!" said Hermione, smiling.

He looked back to her again, biting his lip nervously; Hermione assumed that he was simply in thought.

"You said ― you said 'it's Hermione'?" he asked.

Hermione nodded and grinned. "I think that'd be acceptable. And you said 'it's Draco'?"

"Yes," he replied. He managed to laugh softly. "So, er . . . first name basis from now on, eh?"

"I don't see why not," said Hermione. Her hand drifted to her hair again, and her smile faded slightly. "I must look like a mess ―"

"You don't," said Draco. "I ― I just mean, it's not any worse than usual," he added, rather quickly.

Hermione felt butterflies in her stomach, but didn't pursue the subject any further. She giggled and looked down at her feet. "Well, I had a lot of fun tonight, Mal ― oh, sorry ― _Draco_."

He smiled at her. "No problem. Well, um . . . goodnight, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Draco."

She watched him fly away, and waved back at him when he had turned around to do so. As soon as he was out of sight, she took a deep breath and practically flew upstairs to her dormitory, but still tried to be as quiet as possible.

She slipped off her robes, grabbed her pajamas, and slipped into her four-poster, which she had closed and sealed to make sure that no one would know she was missing. She quickly changed inside of the bed after casting a Silencing Charm so no one could hear her. She had learned how to do her nightly routine using magic; and afterwards, of course, she reached for her diary and quill.

_Dear Diary,_

_I don't even know where to begin. I feel so girly and stupid for writing something like this, but no one will see it anyway, so I'll write what I want. This is something I've never thought I'd ever experience, and it's a little frightening, but I don't care. After tonight, I don't see how I could ever care._

_Tonight has taught me a lot about myself, especially who I've been this past couple of days. Getting nervous randomly? That was confusing. Getting shivers from a simple touch? Just weeks ago, that would've been appalling. But it all makes sense now. I understand why I felt like that, and I don't know how long it's been coming, but it has, and I don't know how to write it out, because it feels so awkward, but . . . maybe it'll help with acceptance. I've been avoiding it for too long._

_I never thought that I would admit this, but I think I actually like Draco._

_And yes, it's Draco, not just Malfoy anymore, and it was on his request._

_I knew that I had been getting nervous around him, but I didn't think it would be a full-on . . . well, a full-on crush. I thought I was just nervous because he was intimidating or something, but he really isn't, I know that much of him now. I can't believe I've been so stupid._

_I think I realized it when I wrapped my arms around him when we were flying tonight. He did a spiral, and I got scared, so I latched on ― and that's when I knew. Once I registered exactly what I was doing, I knew. _

_And I think he knew, too._

_But I don't think I've been terribly obvious about it. Of course, when we were in the library yesterday and I blushed when I looked at him, he seemed confused at first ― but then he smirked. He noticed._

_That reminds me; he also noticed my appearance tonight. I just did something extra tonight ― and of course I know why I did it now, I don't know how I couldn't have seen it before ― and he noticed it. They were subtle changes, but he noticed all the same._

_Not that I think he likes me, of course, that'd just be stupid. I think he's just observant when it comes to girls._

_And now I realize that I was feeling jealousy when Charlotte was flirting with him yesterday._

_Oh, Hermione . . . you've really changed._

_― Hermione_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I know a lot of people hate author's notes, but I'll be brief. I just want to take a minute to thank all of the people who have been reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing this story. It means a lot to me, and it's been such a confidence booster. I hope you continue to enjoy the rest of the story and read on until the end. **

* * *

Hermione woke up feeling refreshed and in a better mood than she usually was when she woke up this early. She had just had the best night of her life, so why wouldn't she be in a good mood? It was certainly helping to forget all about the struggles with Umbridge and her reign of terror.

Well, you need to have a little fun when times get bad.

Since she had woken up so early, she opened the diary that had been slipped underneath her pillow last night and re-read her entries. It was fascinating, really, how quickly her thoughts of Draco had evolved. How did he go from being a stuck-up, evil brat to a sweet, misunderstood guy in just a matter of weeks?

"_I guess you can't judge a book by its cover alone, nor a person by their deeds alone._"

That entry had been made weeks ago and the message was still true. She felt like she was finally seeing the true Draco Malfoy, the one that no one else ever met. That felt special to her, like it was their little secret . . . and nobody would ever have to know.

She flipped through a couple more pages, her eyes landing on her entry from last night.

"_I never thought that I would admit this, but I think I actually like Draco._"

She felt her stomach do a little flip, and a wide grin forming on her face. She read the entry over and over again, finally registering that she did, indeed, have a crush on Draco Malfoy.

_I guess this is what it feels like to be a teenaged girl that likes a teenaged boy._

Hermione had never really been one for crushes, and wasn't boy-crazy at all. Schoolwork mattered the most to her when she was younger, and friends were more interesting company. All in all, she had more things to worry about than what boys thought of her.

It wasn't that she never thought about how boys saw her, especially after that Yule Ball. She knew that she was getting stares from everyone, and although she was embarrassed at first, she had to admit that it did feel pretty nice to be the center of attention for once.

And that night, even the critical Draco Malfoy couldn't come up with an insult for her.

She reluctantly stopped her wandering thoughts, but hurried up anyway and got ready to head down to breakfast. She slipped her diary into her book bag, hoping that maybe today it would be a good luck charm for another exciting enough day, although last night would be pretty hard to top.

* * *

Hermione had walked alone down the corridors, her heavy bag slung across her shoulders, seeing as not too many people seemed to be up yet. She was often an early riser, so this wasn't too out of the ordinary. The hallways were fairly dark, so it was slightly difficult to see, but glancing to her side, she noticed a shock of platinum blonde hair by itself, not too far off.

She turned and hurried towards Draco, noticing that he was, indeed, alone. He evidently heard her footsteps, raising his head slightly to look at who it was that was so urgently running towards him, with that bushy mane of brunette curls flying behind her.

She stopped as soon as she was right in front of him; the pair stood right outside of the Great Hall's closed doors.

"Good morning," she said, somewhat breathless from the running.

He smiled lightly at her. "So this is how it's going to be, then?"

"Don't your friends say good morning to you?" Hermione asked.

"They have their own ways of saying it," he replied. "It's usually something like, 'Where were you, you said you'd help with that Potions essay,' or 'Hi sweetheart, last night was fantastic,' or 'I'm going to kick your ass for that remark yesterday at Quidditch practice.' What, do you not get questions like that?"

She giggled slightly, shaking her head. "No, not really."

"I'm sure they ask you for help with Potions essays, though," he said. "You know, _they_ being Potty and Weasel."

"Don't call them that!" she playfully snapped, smacking him lightly on the arm.

"One night out and you're willingly touching me?" he said, smirking. "Wow, you move pretty fast, don't you?" He lightly slapped her face. "Well, two can play that game."

"It's not like a gentleman to slap a girl in the face," she said, taking the hand that slapped her and slapping him in the face with it. "It's not a very polite thing to do."

"I've never claimed to be a gentleman," he said, "and I've never promised that I'd be polite. You know me too well."

They laughed for a moment, both of them so happy with how easily they were able to communicate now . . . like friends.

The doors to the Great Hall opened, and they both peered inside. Only a couple of teachers were there, and they both thanked their lucky stars that Umbridge wasn't one of them.

"May I escort you to your seat, Madame?" Draco asked, holding his arm out to his side.

"Yes, thank you very much, Sir," Hermione replied, taking his arm and standing as tall as possible.

Another flip in the stomach. Hermione had no idea where his high spirits were coming from this morning.

_Maybe he enjoyed that night out just as much as I did._

She shoved the thought aside, because she knew that it would lead to thoughts about Draco possibly liking her, and she knew that it would be too unlikely. They were friends, and she just happened to have a little crush on him. That was normal.

"Here you are," said Draco, as they found a suitable spot at the Gryffindor table.

She slipped into her seat on the bench, somewhat reluctantly releasing her grasp on his arm. She was pouring herself a glass of orange juice when she fully registered that Draco was still standing there.

"What?" she asked, giggling slightly.

He smirked. "No tip?"

"You can sit here, if you want," she said, patting the spot on the bench next to her. "You know, for a while. It'd be awkward to be the only two students in the Great Hall and sit so far apart."

"That'd be enough, I think," he said, with a smile.

He sat down beside her, with his back to the table. He kept his head turned away from her, though; he was watching the door. Hermione shrugged to herself and turned her head towards the Staff table. Dumbledore was looking at the pair with an expression of mild interest. She couldn't help but smile at him as his words came flying back to her:

_"And, who knows? You might actually befriend the boy . . ."_

And her thoughts:

_"'You might actually befriend the boy' . . . what a load of rubbish . . ."_

She thought that she could just see a trace of a smile back from Dumbledore under his moustache before he turned back to his conversation.

Hermione now turned back to Draco, who also appeared to be eying her with a similar expression to Dumbledore's.

"Do you eat?" he said, grinning. "All you've done is poured yourself some juice."

She looked confused for a moment, but then her eyes widened. "Oh, yes, I was just thinking ―"

He pushed a plate of food towards her, which he had evidently made for her while she was looking away.

"Saved you some time," he said. "I'm pretty helpful, aren't I?"

"Thank you," she beamed, and nodded. "And yes, you're very helpful. . . . How did you know what I liked?"

"What can I say?" he said. "I'm a genius."

_I've been watching you for years, you silly girl._

He turned towards the door again, hearing footsteps. A furious-looking Pansy was entering with her gang of Slytherin girls at her heels. Hermione heard Draco curse under his breath as Pansy stormed towards him and Hermione.

"What do you think you're doing?" Pansy asked, her hands on her hips in her signature pose.

"What do you think _you're _doing?" said Draco. "It took you long enough. How long did getting ready and recruiting a couple of girls take? I see that you take after me quite a bit, with the whole crony thing; maybe I'm rubbing off on you. Maybe my time-keeping will rub off, too, if you're lucky."

Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she stifled a giggle, and flushed red when she realized that it wasn't as well-hidden as she thought it was.

"So," said Pansy, turning her gaze towards Hermione, "you two being all chummy again?"

"We're just sitting down," Hermione replied.

"Since when do you sit together?" Pansy asked. "It's as if you _want _to sit together. . . . You know, Granger, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've got quite a thing for Draco."

Hermione flushed even redder and opened her mouth to speak, but a blank-faced Draco held his hand up to silence her.

"I sat down here on my own," he said. "I don't have to have a million people around when I bully someone."

Hermione stared at him in awe, and turned to the Staff table. None of them seemed to be paying attention, as dozens of students had been entering the Great Hall as they spoke.

She couldn't understand what he meant. "But ―"

He turned towards her suddenly, his eyes narrowing. "What, do you think I'd rather hang out with _you _than Pansy?" he snapped.

Hermione's heart sank. "I just thought ―"

"Yeah, I bet you did," he said. "You thought you were better than her, didn't you?" He stood up and took Pansy's hand; she and her friends were looking very pleased with this. "You thought you could top her?"

Hermione blinked. "Last time I checked, lovely Miss Parkinson _wasn't _at the top of her class."

"I didn't mean by book smarts, you idiot," he hissed. "You know very well what I meant."

Hermione's eyes widened and she shook her head. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she cried, "If you think I like you, then you're _very _mistaken!"

He gaped at her for a second, his eyes darting around the room, hoping nobody had heard her outburst. Nobody knew what to say; the only sound was from all of the other students getting their food and having meaningless conversations.

"I ― I didn't think you did," he said slowly. "Evidently you didn't get what I meant."

He glanced at Pansy, who was staring Draco down, as if trying to read his mind and find out what he really did mean; she had interpreted his words the same way as Hermione did.

Hermione's face turned bright red. She stood up from the table, glaring at Draco and Pansy one last time, and stormed out of the Great Hall. She could hear a pair of footsteps behind her, so she stopped and barely turned around. Draco caught up with her very quickly and looked her straight in the eye.

"I can promise you that's not what I meant," he said. "You shouldn't have spoken."

"Oh, I shouldn't have spoken?" Hermione asked, now fully crying. "_I shouldn't have spoken? _I didn't even say a word!"

"You tried to contract me when I said that I was bullying you," he hissed. "You should've let it go, I would've handled it."

"But this is all a joke, isn't it?" she cried. "All you care about is popularity and looking good in front of people!"

She ran towards GryffindorTower before he could say anything else, and wondered how on Earth that good luck charm could've made things go so badly.

And to add insult to injury, she had a patrol to look forward to that night.

* * *

_So this is what a crush feels like. One minute you want to just give him the world's biggest hug or snog his brains out and the next you want to strangle him or punch him in the face with everything you have. Of course, I've already tried that before. Maybe it'll make another appearance tonight._

Hermione had been fuming the whole day. How dare he insult her in front of all those people, right after they had decided they were friends? They were talking like everything was normal . . . maybe it was just another Malfoy trick.

And the fact that he was holding Pansy's hand and talking about her as if she was a queen? Disgusting, especially after she had found out how much he hated her a while ago.

_It's so easy for him to jump from Girl A to Girl B like it's nothing. Then again, he's never promised that he likes me back. Still, that cow is repulsive. And maybe he deserves that._

Why was she getting so upset? They were just friends, right? He was just being a jerk again. That's what he _does_. That's how he's always been.

And yet, a few hours ago he was a sweet, sensitive guy.

"Slap me."

Hermione turned around, her gaze meeting the pair of grey eyes that were staring at her. He was only a couple of feet away from her; she wondered how he could be so quiet.

"I said, slap me."

Hermione blinked, confused. "What?"

"I'd prefer that you didn't punch me, because that could leave a nasty mark; I don't want a black eye and have people ask about it. So slap me."

She took a step forward. She thought that she must look ridiculous with her mouth open and her eyes so wide.

"Come on," he said. "It'll help you feel better. I've taken one of your hits before, I can do it again."

She was exactly one foot away from him, staring at him like he was an alien. "But ―"

"Just do it," he said.

He looked fairly contented, his expression somewhat blank. He blinked twice at her, and then watched her right hand ball into a fist and then release again.

Hermione watched him, and raised her open palm. She swung it back, and his eyes followed it as it travelled. It flew forward rather quickly towards his cheek, but stopped when it was close. Instead of slapping him across the face, she gently tapped him on the cheek and let her hand drop.

"I can't do it when you ask me to," she said.

He smiled softly at her. "I deserve it, though."

"Well, I deserved to be treated more nicely at breakfast," she said, "and I didn't get that, either."

"Touché," he said, smirking. "And yes, you did deserve that. I'm apologizing again. . . . You like when I apologize, right?"

"I prefer it to not apologizing," she said, feeling a smile form on her lips.

"You know I didn't mean any of that at breakfast," he said. "It wasn't your fault or anything. I hoped chasing after you would at least show you that I _wanted _to say something nice, but I couldn't, and all I got out of it was ― well, never mind that," he said, his eyes darting frantically around and his cheeks turning slightly pink. "That's not important. But, what is important is that I'm very sorry, and I hope you'll forgive me for being a self-centered, slimy little git so much."

"You're none of those things," Hermione assured him.

_But you were ten minutes ago._

"So you accept my apology?" he asked.

"Of course."

He smiled at her, nodding in acknowledgment. "You know, I'm not surprised that Potter and Weasley are around you all the time."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"You're just ― you ― you're a very understanding person," he said, rather quickly, as if it was slightly uncomfortable to say. "And it's nice to have friends that don't judge you. You're just a good friend, that's all ―"

He was cut off by a sensation that he never thought he'd get in a million years from Hermione Granger, no matter how many times he imagined it happening like an idiot; she had her arms wrapped around him in a very warm hug.

He prayed that she wouldn't feel just how fast his heart was beating, and pull away to see just how red he had flushed. Little did he know, she was thinking the same thing.

He managed to speak first, however shaky and awkward it must've sounded. "What ― ?"

"Friends hug each other," she said. "We're friends, and it seemed like the time for a hug."

"Oh ― okay."

It was a couple more moments before Hermione pulled away; both of them stared down at the other's shoes like they were the most interesting pair of shoes in the world. And as if they were completely in sync, they both mustered up the courage to meet each other's eyes at the same time.

Hermione noticed that he looked a bit . . . different. He looked as if he wanted to say something to her, but was in too much shock from the hug that he just couldn't say a word of it. She wondered if maybe the embrace had interrupted something important that he was trying to get to, and began to feel almost bad for doing so.

Draco, on the other hand, looked into her eyes and wanted to do back flips all the way to the Slytherin Dungeon. She'd never know it, but a hug like this was on what he liked to call his personal "Hermione Granger Checklist." Bonus points because she gave him one after a day of him being a jerk.

_Yep, it's that Malfoy charm._

Hermione was the first to break eye contact. She looked around the corridors rather exaggeratedly, and then turned back to him.

"Well, I don't see anyone misbehaving around here," she said. "We could probably go back to our dormitories ―"

"Oh, yeah," he said quickly. "Of course, if there's no one out here then we don't need to be ―"

"Exactly," she said, just as fast. "So I'll be off, then ―"

"So will I ―"

"Have a nice night ―"

"You as well ―"

"Well, goodnight, Draco. . . ."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She walked as fast as she could towards GryffindorTower. Part of her wanted to scream out of joy and the other to scream out of sheer horror.

_I just bloody hugged Draco Malfoy like it was normal . . . because a hug that lasts that long is completely casual and normal, by anyone's standards._

But he didn't pull away, did he? Maybe he liked hugs. He might be a huggy person on the inside.

_Draco Malfoy, liking hugs? That's like Professor Snape suddenly finding werewolves to be beautiful and misunderstood creatures._

Either way, she was going to write about it. She had to now. It seemed like everything that involved interactions with Draco made its happy little way to her diary; that was pretty much all that was in there, anyway.

She made her way to her dormitory in no time, and plopped down on her bed. She looked under her pillow, where she had started to keep the diary, but couldn't find anything.

_You put that little "good luck charm" in your bag, you idiot._

Rolling her eyes at her mistake ― but blaming it simply on her nerves ― she pulled her book bag onto her bed and rummaged through it. Her heartbeat stopped as she emptied the entire thing out and came to a horrific realization.

_Oh my God, I've lost the diary._


	11. Chapter 11

Hermione woke up in a very different manner than the previous couple of days. Those days she woke up in fantastic moods, more than ready to start her day. Today she wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and pretend that everything was a dream.

_The diary is missing. Anyone could have it now, and it's Christmas Break._

She wondered if anyone would have the audacity to pick such an innocent thing up and exploit it. She wondered who even would _want _to pick it up . . . someone who hated her, no doubt.

She really wished that she hadn't signed her name on _every single entry_.

She stumbled out of bed, reaching for a change of casual clothes; it was the day to leave for home and she would be going to the Burrow that evening. After she got into the bathroom and changed ― choosing not to do anything special with her hair and makeup today ― she went downstairs for breakfast.

Walking the corridors alone this morning was very different. She had gotten a rather late start, and so no white-blonde, sixth-year stragglers were anywhere to be found alone.

When she entered the Great Hall, there were already many students, as expected. She stole a quick glance at the Slytherin table as she was walking towards Harry and Ron, and noticed Draco talking to Charlotte again. Evidently he noticed Hermione looking at him, and both he and Charlotte smiled at her before returning to their conversation. Another flip in the stomach from Draco's smile alone.

_You'd better get used to his politeness, or you won't be conscious the next time you hug him._

Hermione took a seat across from Harry and Ron and leaned across the table slightly.

"Neither of you two has seen a diary, have you?" she asked.

Harry looked a bit confused, and didn't seem to be in the best of moods. "Er . . . just lying around?"

"I suppose so," she replied, "but I really would rather it wasn't."

"What does it look like?" Harry asked.

"It's just small and black," said Hermione. "It's only about the size of your hand, probably."

"You didn't sign your name in it or anything, did you?" Ron asked.

Hermione flushed. "Well . . . yes, I did . . . on every entry. . . ."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" he said. "Then whoever found it will be able to return it to you, because they know whose diary it is."

"That's just it," she said, her head buried in her hands from the nerves and embarrassment. "If the person isn't very . . . well, polite . . . then they probably _won't _return it to me. They'll know ―" She blushed even redder than before and began to frantically fill up her plate with food.

Ron and Harry laughed. Hermione managed a weak giggle, but not much else.

"I can't imagine what sort of things you'd have written in there," said Ron.

Harry grinned. "Maybe she wrote about . . ." He trailed off as his eyes widened, and he looked intently at Hermione. "You didn't write anything about the DA, did you?" he muttered.

An anxious look from Hermione gave him his answer. He took a deep breath, glancing sideways at Ron.

"I never thought that I'd lose it!" she said. "It was always in my room, you know, so there wouldn't be an opportunity. . . ."

"Then how _did _you lose it?" Ron asked.

"Well," she started, her cheeks turning pink, "I put it in my book bag yesterday, by accident. I guess it fell out."

She hated lying to them, but she couldn't possibly tell them about how it was a "good luck charm" and how it was going to help her maybe have a nice day with Draco. . . . That was the real intent, wasn't it?

Hermione quickly finished eating during the next few minutes of silence.

"We should make sure we're all packed up," she said.

"Right," said Harry, standing up and gesturing for Ron to do the same. He glanced at Ron again as they were walking, and then back to her. "Look, Hermione, we need to tell you something pretty important, and as much as we care about your lost diary, this is a little more pressing."

Her eyes widened. "What is it?"

"I ― I had this dream last night," he replied. "And long story short, it told me that Mr. Weasley got attacked at the Ministry last night."

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, wondering how on Earth she could be so stupid as to worry them with her petty issues, and how they could be so patient as to let her ramble about them.

"He's all right though," Harry added, rather quickly, when he noticed her concern. "I just wanted you to know what had happened before we went to the Burrow."

"McGonagall's gonna sneak us out," Ron muttered. "She'll make sure that Umbridge won't be able to bother us."

Hermione nodded, still in shock of how suddenly everything seemed to happen. Glancing to her side, she noticed Charlotte leaning up against a wall, watching her, with a smile on her face. She gestured for Hermione to join her.

"I'll see you two later," said Hermione, nodding her head in Charlotte's direction.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused looks, but shrugged it off and walked away together towards GryffindorTower to pack up their things.

"Hello," said Charlotte, once Hermione had met her. "I haven't seen you since . . . well, you know."

"Yeah," said Hermione, awkwardly. "Er . . . listen, you haven't seen a diary lying around, have you?"

"A diary?" Charlotte asked. "I can't say I have . . . but would you like help looking for it before you leave?"

"That'd be wonderful," Hermione replied, with a grateful smile.

Charlotte returned the smile, and then scanned the floor briefly. "Do you have any idea where you might've dropped it?" she asked.

"Anywhere between the Great Hall and GryffindorTower," said Hermione. "That was the only path I carried it in."

"You carried the diary _with you_?" Charlotte asked.

Hermione flushed. "Well, yes, but ―"

"I understand," said Charlotte. "I've done it before. I carried it as a sort of 'good luck charm' or something. It's a bit weird, you know, but I liked carrying it."

Hermione laughed. "And whatever would you need a good luck charm for?"

Charlotte turned a light shade of pink and dropped eye contact. "Well, I . . . I had a little crush last year. You know how it is." She smiled reminiscently before turning back to Hermione. "You're a prefect, right?" When Hermione nodded, she continued. "Couldn't you just do a brief check of the students that you think might've taken it?"

Hermione shook her head and giggled a bit. "Not exactly. I'm afraid that some students might get a little more interested in the idea of finding Hermione Granger's diary if I made a bigger deal about it."

"True," said Charlotte. "And, er . . . prefects do night patrols, correct?"

"Yes, when they're assigned to do them," said Hermione. "They're usually paired up with another student for patrols, just for safety reasons. For instance, I'm paired up with ―"

"Draco Malfoy," said Charlotte. She turned a brighter shade of pink and smiled softly. "Yes, he's told me all about your shifts."

"Has he?" asked Hermione. She wondered how they'd ever come up in conversation.

"He talks about them quite often," said Charlotte. "He seems to enjoy them a lot."

And yet another flip in the stomach. Hermione was skilled at making connections, even if she did say so herself:

_So Draco enjoys spending time with you. Ten points to Hermione Granger._

"Well, that's good to hear," Hermione finally said, after she snapped herself out of the thought of winning the Malfoy Cup Tournament. "So you two are good friends, then? I've noticed you two talking a lot, like in the library that day. . . ."

Charlotte's face was now crimson. "Oh, yeah, that!" She frantically looked around, and then lowered her voice to a whisper. "Promise you won't tell anyone?"

"Promise," Hermione replied.

"The thing is . . . I've liked him for years," said Charlotte. "Probably since Second Year. And I know he isn't always very nice to your friends and all, but I think I liked his attitude. I don't know. And he and I are friends now, so we've been getting closer. . . . I mentioned a little while ago that I had a crush and so I carried around my diary? . . . It was him."

Hermione slowly nodded. "So you still like him, then?"

"Yes, even more so than ever," Charlotte beamed. "He seems pretty . . . well, pretty _happy_ now. He isn't as bitter as he was to everyone before, and that's nice. But he's dating Pansy, you know, so . . ."

"Er . . . right," Hermione said.

Charlotte smiled. "Well, thanks for listening to my stupid story. I've got to go and pack up; my parents will be here soon. . . ." She gave Hermione a quick hug. "Have a nice Christmas!"

"Same to you."

_Oh, look at that, Hermione! Your new friend's been crushing on Draco for years, and she's in his own House. And he's "dating" Pansy, too. And let's not forget every other gorgeous girl that would secretly throw themselves at him despite how many times they've called him a stuck-up, selfish git . . . maybe you should start using that hair potion again._

* * *

A few hours later, Hermione was seated on her luggage with Harry and Ron in the school courtyard, awaiting Professor McGonagall's meeting with them. Hermione had too much to think about now:

_So Charlotte likes Draco, who I happen to be very fond of as well. That's not to mention Pansy, who's bloody obsessed with the guy. I know for a fact that there are a few Gryffindor girls who stop to watch him when he walks by, and countless Slytherin girls do the same. I wouldn't be surprised at all if some Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw girls liked him, too. And could you blame them? Most of the girls who liked him didn't know him very personally. All they need to do to have a crush is to see the guy ― and although I don't usually pay attention to looks, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that Draco was pretty easy on the eyes. Cedric was very nice, but no girl was paying attention to that, except for maybe Cho, who's now into my best friend. And my other best friend is getting stressed about Quidditch and his father, who just got attacked in an office building last night. And now I'm going to his house for Christmas Break, and I still don't have my diary, and I have absolutely no clue who has it. And we have O.W.L.'s this year. And Umbridge still exists. Oh, yeah, and Voldemort's back._

"Hermione, you awake?" said Ron, laughing and snapping his fingers.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Oh, yes ― I was just thinking, that's all. . . . What time did McGonagall say she'd be here?"

"Around four o'clock," Harry replied, checking his watch. "We've got about half an hour."

Hermione nodded and scanned around the courtyard. It was a beautiful day, even if it was very cold. She pulled her red-and-gold Gryffindor scarf around her face to keep warm, and looked at the students, who were all waiting for pick-up as well.

Then she noticed someone was walking towards them, alone. He was dressed all in black, clutching a Slytherin scarf around his neck. The shock of white-blonde hair was unmistakable, even when it was snowing.

She let her own scarf down slightly to give him a quick smile before changing her expression to one of false irritation and impatience.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Ron, when Draco was standing in front of them.

"Nothing to concern you, Weasel. I was sent to get _her_," he said, jerking his head in Hermione's direction.

"Why?" said Ron, narrowing his eyes.

"Prefect business, dumbass."

"But Ron's a prefect," Harry interjected. "Why isn't he coming with you?"

"For much the same reason you aren't," said Draco. "Neither of you spend multiple nights a week patrolling with her. That's because Weasel here had to be a prat and separate everyone, and you're not a prefect to begin with ― I never asked you, did you take that well?"

Harry started to stand up, but Hermione leaned over, grasped his arm firmly, and pulled him back down.

"It's not worth it, Harry," she said. She turned to Draco and nodded. "Fine, I'll go, just make it quick."

"Gladly," Draco snarled.

Hermione stood up and followed him, wondering what "prefect business" Draco was talking about. When they were out of Harry and Ron's sight, she began to walk alongside him, and felt her heart rate speed up rapidly. She had never been more tempted to hold someone's hand in her life. She wanted to do it so badly . . . it wouldn't hurt, would it? She held Ron and Harry's hands when they walked all the time. Friends held hands without it being weird, right?

She felt their gloved hands brush against each other by accident, and she flushed red.

_Oh, yes, Hermione; it's a completely friendly thing until you have a bloody crush on the guy._

She suddenly felt a hand take hold of hers, after they brushed against each other for the second time. Bewildered, she gained the courage to lift her gaze up to Draco, who was staring straight ahead. He didn't seem like he had noticed what he did at first glance, but looking more closely, Hermione noticed a light pink tinge near his ears. And her stomach did, yet again, another little flip while that nagging idea that maybe, just maybe, he also liked her made its happy little way back into her brain.

She felt his hand slowly leave hers as he stopped walking and turned around to face her, the blush on his face becoming even more evident. They were at a secluded corner of the outside of Hogwarts, where no students would really see them or even pay attention. He looked her straight in the eye, looking rather serious.

"Sorry for insulting your friend back there," he said. "I had to say something, you know."

"I understand," she said. "I'm getting used to it by now."

"Is his father all right?" he asked.

Hermione eyed him with a curious expression. "How do you know about that?"

"Oh, it's already gotten out there," he replied. "Everyone knows now."

"Interesting . . . well, he's doing as well as he can be now," she said, "given his current state. It was a nasty attack."

"That's what I heard," he said, cringing at the thought. "But you think he'll be fine?"

"That's what Harry said, at least."

Draco nodded, and seemed satisfied enough with this. He then took a deep breath and grinned at Hermione.

"Now that the serious stuff is out of the way," he said, "I wanted to give you something."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

He smiled softly at her. "I thought you might react that way," he said. "You see, I know I apologized and all, but I still _did _feel sort of bad for embarrassing you in front of all those people. And, we aren't going to be seeing very much of each other these next couple of weeks, so I thought it might be useful . . . and it's easier to take care of than owls, that's for sure. . . ."

He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, periwinkle, square-shaped box. He took hold of her hand again, slipped her glove off, and lifted the hand up. He placed the box in her open palm and lifted the lid, revealing the most gorgeous ring she had ever seen. It was gold, set with garnet stones all around it, with a rather large one in the center.

"Now don't get the wrong idea," he said quickly, laughing. "You wear it on your _thumb_."

She beamed. "Draco, it's absolutely beautiful," she said, slipping it on her right thumb.

"Do you know what it does?" he asked.

She tore her eyes away from the ring and looked up at him in awe. "It . . . it _does _things, too?"

Draco nodded, giving her a smirk. He pulled off the glove on his right hand to show her that he had a matching one on his own thumb. He took her hand in his, making sure that the rings were touching. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and tapped them, muttering "_Contineo_," which Hermione remembered as a bonding incantation. He slipped the wand back in his pocket, but didn't release her hand.

"So," he said, "we can now talk while we're on vacation without arousing any suspicion from anyone who might be, well . . . a bit overly-curious."

"That's amazing," she said, examining the ring again. "How does it work?"

"Just tap the middle, largest stone with your wand and say '_Contineo Draco_,' and if I'm available, you basically talk into it to speak," he explained. "People would notice you sending an owl, and this way, we can arrange . . . er . . ."

"Arrange?" she asked, smiling.

He refused to meet her eyes, and kept his gaze locked on their intertwined hands.

"Well, do you think we could meet up again?" he asked. "It'll be less . . . adventurous . . . but we could go to Diagon Alley. Hardly anyone from school goes there during the Christmas holidays. And we could just walk around, you know, and ―"

"That'd be lovely," she said, releasing her hand from his grasp. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into another, slightly impulsive hug. "Thank you very much, Draco. I'll be sure to check in with you whenever I can."

"I'd like that," he said, pulling away slightly to meet her eyes.

If she had her diary back, she'd probably write an essay about his eyes alone in there. She never realized that she never paid much attention to them before, despite how many times she had looked him in the eyes. They were an absolutely smoldering shade of grey; they were pale, but had an intensity in them that suggested otherwise. And she could notice the tiniest flecks of a light blue in them when she was this close. Her gaze trailed down a bit to see that the corners of his lips had formed in a curious smile, one that she'd personally like to snog right off. . . .

_No, Hermione; friends hug and hold hands, but_ _don't snog each other's brains out._

It took a great deal of effort to not react even more impulsively, but she was able to resist for both of their sakes. She gave him another hug, this one softer than the other, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"So how often is 'whenever I can'?" Draco muttered, jokingly.

She could feel herself melting in the warmness of the embrace, and knew that there really wasn't much going on in her life that made her as happy as Draco did. He was her escape, and he had no idea.

"Every day, if I can manage it," she replied. "If I can talk to Harry and Ron every day at the Burrow, I can talk to you just as much."

He pulled away from the hug, laughing. "So, I'm best-friend status now, am I?"

She nodded and grinned. "I'd say so."

"Of all the things that I've accomplished," he said, "I think becoming one of Hermione Granger's best friends was the most challenging."

"Was it really?" she asked.

"You're pretty difficult, you know," he replied. "And that's nice. Challenges are ―" He shook his head and pushed the rest of the statement far, far away. "Well, we should probably end our 'prefect business' before people get suspicious. . . ."

"Oh, I forgot!" she said. "Well" ― she gave him another quick hug ― "Happy Christmas, Draco!"

He smiled at her and waved as she walked off. "Same to you, Hermione."

She slipped her right glove back on to cover the ring and hurried off towards Harry and Ron. They'd no doubt be worried about her after she was gone so long. When she re-entered the courtyard, she noticed Harry and Ron talking to McGonagall, who looked somewhat impatient. They looked up and saw Hermione rushing towards them, and seemed fairly relieved.

"Are these all your things, Miss Granger?" asked McGonagall. She gestured to the various bags and trunks that Hermione had been sitting on before Draco had come up.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, Professor."

"Well, if you're all ready, follow me to my office," McGonagall muttered, leading them off.

"So, how'd that _prefect business_ go?" Ron whispered.

Hermione took a deep breath and smiled to herself. "Better than I expected."


	12. Chapter 12

"_Contineo Draco_."

Nearly a week had passed since Hermione had left for the Burrow for Christmas break; Christmas day had already passed, and although she enjoyed the company of the Weasleys, she truly missed Draco.

It was like being without Harry and Ron for that long; she hated it. She felt lonely. And although she was independent enough to not derive her self-worth from other people, she naturally enjoyed the association.

Hermione was lying on her bed, the covers pulled up over her face. She had cast a _Muffliato_ on Ginny to ensure the privacy of her conversation. Of course, Ginny was probably one of the best ones to hear about Hermione's new relationship with Draco if she did manage to listen in, as she was never really judgmental about these sorts of things, and she was probably Hermione's closest girl friend at this point.

The garnet stones glowed faintly for a moment, right after Hermione had tapped the ring with her wand. She felt her heart skip a beat; she and Draco were comfortable talking with each other, obviously . . . but it had been days. She didn't know quite what to expect.

"Hello?" a hushed, familiar voice asked, out of the ring.

Hermione grinned her brightest, even if he wouldn't be able to see it. "D-Draco?"

"Well, yeah, obviously," he replied, with a sort of dry laugh.

"Having a nice break so far?" Hermione cringed as she uttered the words, for fear that the conversation would run dull.

There was a moment's silence before Draco spoke again. "Um . . . yeah, I mean, it could be better. . . . Well, how are you?"

"Draco, I want you to tell me what's wrong."

Hermione knew him far too well to mistake his delay for a simple thought process. No, there was more to him than that. It didn't help that he sounded almost weak and defeated.

"It's nothing, really," he said, rather quickly. "Well, it _is _something, I'm not going to lie . . . something happened and I'm not sure what to do about it. A few things happened, actually. . . ."

"Do you intend to tell me?" Hermione asked.

"I'm planning on it," he replied, "but not here. I know that we're using these rings to communicate privately and all, but in all honesty, someone could walk in my room at any time and . . . you know."

"So it involves your family, then?"

"Perhaps. One problem is directly, the other indirectly."

Hermione took a deep breath, a little put off from his vagueness, but she gave him the benefit of the doubt and assumed that he really _couldn't _say anything, even if he did cast a silencing charm. His parents were in league with Voldemort, after all, and she didn't fully understand the capacity of his power yet.

"Can we meet in Diagon Alley tomorrow?" he asked. "You know, like I mentioned before we left? I'd rather talk to you about it there."

"That'd be great," she said, gaining her smile back. "Well . . . did you at least manage to have a nice Christmas?"

"Nice enough," he said. "I don't know. Christmas with my family's probably a lot different from Christmas at the Weasleys' . . . speaking of which, Arthur's doing better, right?"

"From what we can tell," she replied. "We visited him in St. Mungo's the other day ago, and he was home on Christmas day, but . . . how are the Holidays different for you?"

"A lot of it's the same," he said. "You know, eating a ridiculous amount of food and getting an even more ridiculous amount of presents . . . but it's the atmosphere, I guess. My father was never really one for holidays, you know. It was the one time during the year that I went home, and he would get his impression of how I was growing up at school. There'd always be complaints about Dumbledore, of course, and some of the teachers as well, but he just ― I don't know. He sort of puts a damper on things when he's going on rants."

"He can't give it a rest for the holidays?"

"I guess not. He just wants to see how well his son's doing and make sure that he hasn't been associating with anyone of . . . well, _lesser status_."

Hermione blushed, even though she wasn't face-to-face with Draco. She was exactly one of the people that his father would go berserk over if he caught his son talking to her.

"And look where that's gone!" he said sarcastically. "And I could care less. I just wish that the holidays weren't always like that."

"How long has he been doing this?" she asked.

"Ever since my first Christmas break," he replied. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. "Yeah, I'll never forget the day one of my friends gave me this Muggle stuffed toy. He went mental, I tell you. . . ."

Hermione couldn't help but giggle a bit, and when he laughed in return, she felt the tension lift. "What, over a little teddy bear?"

"A rather large one, at that," he said, still laughing. "You see, my friend was a half-blood, and he lived in Muggle London, so he often got Muggle toys for the pure-blood kids who didn't seem so opposed to Muggles . . . I wasn't even very prejudiced towards them until my second year, you know. Anyway, it was this huge, stuffed, chocolate-brown bear. It was nearly as big as I was, but you know I've always been a little short ―"

"You're not short," she interjected. "You're a fine height."

He laughed again. "I know I'm shorter than a lot of guys my age, Hermione. I wouldn't have been Seeker if I didn't have the right build for it."

"That's debatable," she teased. "But, about the bear . . . what did your father do to it?"

"Oh, I haven't a clue," he replied. "He confiscated it, I guess. Not sure how he disposed of it, though. Sad thing, though, I really liked that bear . . . but I got over it pretty quickly. I got into sports, and I was immediately this masculine, hyped-up creature that was too cool for stuffed toys."

Hermione giggled, but stopped abruptly when she thought she heard Ginny stir a bit. Ginny tended to sleep in, so Hermione had no problem getting up a bit early to talk to Draco . . . but the time had passed fairly quickly, and Ginny would probably rouse Hermione to get her out of bed if she appeared to still be sleeping.

"Draco, I think I need to go," she said. "I think the family's waking up."

"Yeah, it's probably the same over here," he said. "So . . . tomorrow, Diagon Alley? Maybe about eleven o'clock in the morning?"

"That sounds wonderful," she replied. "I'll just tell the rest that I'm out for some study group. That'll deter Harry and Ron for sure. . . ."

He laughed, but weakly. "Sounds like a plan; I'll talk to you about everything there then . . . well, have a nice day, Hermione."

"You too, Draco."

Hermione guessed that Draco had ended the call; she wasn't exactly sure how to do it anyway. She sat up, lifted the silencing charm she had put on Ginny, and got out of bed, worried sick over what Draco's problems might be. She had tried her best to seem cheerful and calm during the conversation, but she was practically ripping her hair out now. People related to Death Eaters, it seemed, would potentially have the worst problems.

Pacing frantically around the room, she thought of ways she could cheer him up when she met with him the next day. Plus, she hadn't gotten him a Christmas present . . . but that conversation, at the very least, inspired her about what to get him. She couldn't give it to him _tomorrow_, of course, because even if it shipped in enough time, he'd have to carry it into his house somehow. No, she'd have it delivered to Hogwarts, so he could hide it there.

* * *

The previous day seemed to go by so slowly, and the next morning even slower. But, thankfully, she _had _managed to convince Harry, Sirius (who had been at the Burrow, but Hermione neglected to inform Draco about this), and the Weasleys that she was going to a monitored study session in Diagon Alley, and as expected, Harry and Ron expressed absolutely no desire to go.

She was now walking aimlessly around Diagon Alley, which was, thankfully, fairly empty. There were a few people here and there, but not enough that they would be suspicious to see her and Draco walking and talking together like it was normal behavior. It was fairly cold out, too, so many people were inside to get warm. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy; she was freezing out there, and Draco was nowhere to be found yet.

Soon enough, however, she caught sight of him turning a corner towards her. She rushed to meet him, ready to ask him about the problems that were driving her mad for a whole day.

When she had caught up with him, she pulled him into a tight, warm hug. She wondered briefly if they could just stand like this for a while; it'd certainly be warmer for the both of them. Pulling away from the hug, she raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"So?" she asked, resulting in another pause. "Can you tell me now?"

"Hello to you, too," he said, furrowing his brows. "Have you really been that concerned?"

"I haven't thought of much else," she replied. "I didn't know what was going on, and with your family situation being the way it is, I got so worried. . . ."

"That's sweet of you," he said, managing to curl the corners of his lips upward to form a very light smile. Then his face fell, and he took her hand, squeezing it tightly. "Can we, er . . . walk around a bit? It might help with the cold. . . ."

"Of course," she said, still keeping his hand in hers as they walked.

"You make this difficult, you know," he said, after they had been walking for some time.

"How so?" she asked.

"Well," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "I wasn't sure how to tell you this _anyway_, and now you're face-to-face with me and bloody holding my hand . . . I just want to make sure that no matter what I'm about to tell you, you won't stop doing that."

"Nothing you say will make me stop being friends with you," she assured him. "I might get angry at you, of course, but I won't stop being your friend."

He stared at her for a few moments, visibly shocked. "Again, you're a very sweet person, I hope you know that. Anyway . . ."

He stopped walking, nodded his head towards a concealed corner of Diagon Alley, and tugged her slightly in the direction of it. When they were seated up against a wall, right next to each other ― they were still holding hands and decided not to separate ― Draco began to speak.

"Which one would you like first?" he asked. "Of the couple of issues?"

"The one that affects your family directly," she replied. "That was the first one you mentioned yesterday."

"All right," he breathed. "You've heard about that mass breakout in Azkaban?"

"Yes," she said, "everyone has."

"Do you recognize the name 'Bellatrix Lestrange'?"

"Um . . . yes, yes I do, actually. Wasn't she on the escapee list?"

"The very same," he replied. "Yeah, she's my aunt, and she's going to be coming around a lot more now."

Hermione's eyes widened, and she gripped his hand more tightly. "Is that ― is that even _safe_ for you?"

"I don't think she'd hurt her own family, if they were also loyal to the Dark Lord," he said. "I should be fine; I'll just try not to get on her bad side, that's all."

"So then . . . you'll have to be more careful in talking to me, right?"

"I'd suppose so. I don't want anything messy to happen. I'm not worried about me; I'm worried about you, honestly. She can get pretty scary when it comes to anyone who isn't pure-blood."

"I'll keep that in mind," she breathed. "So . . . the problem that doesn't affect your family directly?"

"Oh, yeah . . . that." He took a deep breath, running his free hand through his hair nervously. "Let me just tell you beforehand that I'm not proud of this at all . . . I, er . . . you know ― you know Charlotte, correct?"

"Yes," Hermione said, slowly. "She's a friend of mine."

"That's great," he said, with a trace of sarcasm. "_That_ makes this easier . . . well, she and I . . . the night that you left . . ." He took another deep breath, and made sure to keep his head turned towards anything but Hermione. "You see, we had a sort of Christmas party in the Slytherin common room, and things were getting pretty rowdy ― they usually do at these parties ― and people were doing things that they normally wouldn't have done. And I don't know _what _they slipped Charlotte, but she was acting very, _very _different. Most of the guys seemed to like it, of course, and I'm not trying to sound vain, but she came over to me a lot."

"What did she do?" Hermione asked.

"She, er . . . she asked me if I wanted to get away from the noise and all. I wasn't really picking up on what she meant, and I told her that I _was_ a bit tired of the party. Well, I found out what she meant soon enough, when she was leading me up the stairs to the fifth year boys' dormitory."

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, and looked at him intently. He still refused to look at her.

"And ― and ― what happened, Draco?" she whispered.

"Look, I was bored, all right?" he said. "I followed her, but to be quite honest, I actually didn't think she was going to go as far as you might think, really ―"

"I think you need to find better hobbies for when you're bored," she muttered, pulling her hand out of his.

This was the side of Draco she hated. Sure, he could be nice and was definitely a good friend to her, but he had a habit of getting just a bit too friendly with various Slytherin girls this year. He met her eyes again; first out of disappointment from her removing her hand from his, but then to explain further.

"Trust me when I was that it was even _less_ than the one time you saw me with Pansy on that night shift," he said. "Well, I mean, I didn't_ intend_ for it to be any more than that. . . . It started like normal. Yeah, I kissed her, but it wasn't for very long. But she . . . she got a bit, er . . . _ eager_, to say the least, and I stopped her ―"

"You stopped her?" asked Hermione, her eyebrows raised in shock.

"Don't act so surprised," he said, suppressing a smile. "I'm only fifteen, and so is she. I'm not that much of an idiot. I have other things on my mind, you see," he added, looking at Hermione intently. "Did you think I really would go that far with one of my drunken friends?"

"Well, to be quite honest, yes I did," she replied, turning a pale shade of pink.

He laughed softly. "I guess you don't know me as well as I thought you did." He grinned and shook his head. "She just ― I don't know, it didn't feel right at all."

"So she just completely came onto you?" asked Hermione, still surprised that Charlotte would act in such a way.

"Of course," he said. "And she wouldn't be the first one, right? I mean, Pansy's still convinced that you came onto me a couple of months ago. . . ." He chuckled briefly, but soon he stopped talking. His eyes widened as he trailed off. "Oh ― oh, no ―"

"What is it?" she asked.

"Pansy," he replied. "She might've noticed us leaving the common room . . . damn it, I'm going to come back to school with two deranged Slytherin girls pestering me ―"

"But you'll have a Gryffindor girl who won't," she said, smiling lightly.

He returned the smile, taking her hand again. "You're right."

There was silence for a few moments, before Hermione spoke again. "I just can't believe ―"

"That someone like Charlotte would do that?" he said. "Yeah, I didn't think so, either. It's those quiet, bookish ones you've got to watch out for. . . ."

"Oh, right, _those_ are all the sluts," said Hermione, giggling.

Draco immediately flushed red. "Oh, no ― I didn't mean ― no, not at all ―"

She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress the oncoming fit of laughter as Draco struggled for words.

"You're like the anti-Charlotte, you're not ―"

"Draco, I'm not offended," she said, her cheeks tinted from laughter. She beamed at him. "But I am proud."

"Proud?" he asked, still a bit nervously. "Proud of _what_?"

"It didn't feel right to you so you didn't just go for it," she replied. "You've really matured over this school year, you know."

He scoffed. "As if I would've done it at the beginning of the school year."

Hermione cast him a knowing look and smirked. "Yeah, right. You're becoming quite the Gryffindor, you know, being so virtuous and brave ―"

"If you say that one more time, I'll probably relapse," he said, laughing. "And look; after I got that off my chest, you're still my friend."

"Of course I am," she said. "That whole Charlotte thing wasn't your fault. Well, I'm not too glad that you kissed her in the first place ―"

"― As am I ―"

"― But you stood up to her." She pulled him into another warm hug. "Trust me, Draco; I really mean it when I say I'm proud of you."

"Thank you."

He began to stand up, holding his hand out to help her get up as well. She could feel the blush creeping into her cheeks as she laid her hand in his, but tried to ignore it.

"I honestly can't _wait _until school starts back up again," she said. "We'll be able to talk face-to-face like this more."

"And that gives me something to look forward to," he beamed.

Draco was desperately trying, with every ounce of energy in his body, to not just kiss her right then and there. It would be nothing like the kisses he was used to, of course. Those were built on lust and desperation. This would be much different; it'd be built on a mutual bond . . . would it be called _love_? They weren't at that point in their relationship yet, of course, but Draco was by his very nature a determined person. They'd hit that point sometime, he just knew it . . . but now wasn't the time for that.

Hermione was oblivious to his inner feelings, as usual. And with his family situation being the way it was, she'd have to contact him less and less over the duration of the break, for the safety of both of them.

_But at least that gives me an excuse to hug him tighter than I ever have._

And even though she wasn't sure of his feelings, she, too, felt like they were getting closer rapidly, and that something might start between them sooner than she thought. Well, she'd settle with mildness for now.

"Well, I'll see you at school ―"

Hermione cut him off with a quick kiss on the cheek.

_Way to settle for mildness._

"Friends give cheek kisses, Draco," she said, rolling her eyes as he looked at her in shock.

"Do they, now?" he asked, blushing a shade of red that would make a Weasley proud.

"Sometimes," she said, "when they're really close friends, that is."

"And we're ― we're very good friends, right?"

"I would say so."

He smiled at her, albeit somewhat nervously. "I'll keep that in mind, then."

"Well . . . enjoy the rest of your holiday, Draco," she said, beaming and taking a few steps backward.

"You too, Hermione."

She practically skipped out of Diagon Alley, her heart racing. Yes, he had blushed when she kissed him, even if it was just on the cheek. And he smiled at her when she explained.

_Yes, Hermione; he probably likes you too. But you're the bold Gryffindor, so you'd better re-think it if you think that he'll confess something to you first. Well, get to work; you've got two girls to triumph over and a Malfoy's heart to win._


	13. Chapter 13

Hatred was a funny sort of emotion. Human sense and intuition determined the things that mankind generally took a dislike to. Things like lying and cheating and betrayal of trust. Things like what Draco did with Charlotte behind Hermione Granger's back.

Draco trudged all the way to the Slytherin dungeons. It was their first day back from the Christmas holidays. It was also the first day that he'd be seeing Charlotte since the Christmas party.

It wasn't his fault that Charlotte started falling all over him like he was a Slytherin sex god. He was bored. She was drunk. The drinks were spiked, as per usual with Slytherin parties. But that nagging feeling of regret was a bitch. She came in the form of that heartache, that guilt that one feels after they lie or cheat or betray. And he hadn't _really _done any of those things; he wasn't in a serious relationship of any sort, and his so-called romance with Pansy left much to be desired.

One could only wonder if Charlotte was fake, drunk, or a hellish mixture of both.

It wasn't like it was unusual behavior for him. He had a sort of player-like reputation throughout the school; but of course, some girls didn't care. That sort of personality was attractive, evidently. Well, Draco hated that side of himself, and he knew Hermione did too:

_"__I think you need to find better hobbies for when you're bored."_

Those words had been pounding in Draco's mind for days. So fluid and so cold; he wanted to drown himself in them. And though she could be brutal, it didn't stop her from being seemingly endless and beautiful, just like an ocean. . . .

_You prat. Real men don't think in exaggerated analogies and metaphors. They think in terms of sex and benefits and Merlin she's so much more than that. . . . See, you can't even think straight anymore. Everything goes back to Hermione Granger. That's sickening and disgraceful and addicting. _

And when he had told her everything, she was angry. He could see it in her eyes. He could feel it when her hand slipped out of his. And yet . . . she was forgiving. She chose to look past his mistakes and flaws and loved him for who he was striving to be rather than who he more often was. That was a rare and precious quality. And to think that after how he had treated her as a child, and how he was still treating her now, she still chose to overlook these things . . . if it were the other way around, he could never do that. He was too prideful. But she was too kind and sweet and loving and forgiving and everything else that he never knew he could recognize, but desired regardless.

_Maybe I am a prat. That's okay for now._

But he could only wonder how far her forgiveness would extend. Yes, he had withheld some things from her when he saw her in Diagon Alley. And as much as it pained him to only give her some half-truths, he couldn't bear to think of what it would do to her if he had told her all the details. . . .

_"__Draco, the Dark Lord has taken much notice of you lately."_

_If the moment hadn't been so tense, and if it wasn't Voldemort they were talking about, Draco would've found this amusing. But the room was filled with a horrible and bitter air that suppressed any desire to express anything positive, or at the very least, not solemn. He stared at his father, now trying to register his words and decipher their true meanings._

_"__Would you mind elaborating?" Draco asked, vainly wishing that there were more people present than just him and his father; it was never something good if no one else was around._

_"__Of course," said Lucius, dropping his voice to a mutter. "Let's just say that the Dark Lord may be requesting your service very soon."_

_Draco could feel his heart plummet. Another fine and high-spirited Christmas holiday, courtesy of one Lucius Malfoy._

_"__What kind of service?" Draco managed to croak._

_"__We haven't received all of the details just yet," said Lucius, "nor do we know that it's a final decision at this point. But we do know that if you _are _drafted, per se, then it will be the most important thing you'll ever have to do in your life." He now looked Draco intensely in the eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder, as if it would be comforting. "I must say that I'm very proud of you."_

Proud. He's proud of you. Did you hear that, Draco? Your father's proud of you. He just said it, just now. He's really, incredibly proud of you and your accomplishments. Or did you miss it? He just said he was proud of you. Yeah, he's proud. Lucius Malfoy is proud of you. Your father is proud and he just told you that to your face for the first time in years. And did I mention he's proud? Not of your Quidditch skills, not of your grades; he's proud that you caught the attention of the Dark Lord. And you should be totally proud of that, too.

_Draco was unable to move except for a small nod, staring into the cold eyes of his father. "I will proudly undertake whatever duty I am tasked with."_

_"__Even if it requires you to become a full-fledged Death Eater?"_

_Draco knew this day was coming. He had also gathered his answer. Ever since the summer after fourth year, his father had told him that the Malfoys would be in full service to the Dark Lord. And that went for everyone. Draco hadn't come of age yet, so he couldn't become a Death Eater; but he could side with them easily, like so many Slytherins did._

_"__I thought that minors couldn't be Death Eaters," said Draco._

_Lucius nodded, a satisfied smirk growing on his face. "Yes, that was the rule . . . but the Dark Lord is occasionally willing to make exceptions for those who are loyal to him. As far as young Death Eaters go, I don't think he could pick a worthier candidate."_

_"__So I'll get ― will I get branded?"_

_"__With the Dark Mark?" Lucius asked. "Well, quite possibly, if he does indeed provide you with the task."_

_"__And how does mother feel about this?"_

_Lucius' face fell immediately. He cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to ease the obvious tension in the air. If anyone would be opposed to Draco going Death Eater, it would be his mother. It wasn't his loyalty that was the issue; it was the consequences. He didn't know the task yet, after all, and it could be extremely dangerous. She wouldn't want him in that position . . . and for that matter, his father probably wouldn't either._

_"__Your mother doesn't know as of yet," said Lucius. "We intend to inform her only when the task has been assigned; if you end up not having to perform it, we don't want her to get worked up over nothing. We only wish to tell her when everything's made official, and we have your consent . . . you do consent, I assume?"_

_Everything was riding on this moment. He could say no, and promptly flee the Manor with no intentions of returning. He would go to Hogwarts, where he would join Dumbledore's Army and rebel against Umbridge. He might even fight in a war against Voldemort. He'd give all of the muggle-borns, half-bloods, and blood-traitors hugs and brownies made of friendship, love, and pitiful regret. And he'd somehow transfer to Gryffindor, because Slytherin is just pure evil. And he'd be Harry, Ron, and Hermione's best friend and they'd go on adventures and solve mysteries and stuff._

_Or he could do the easy thing._

_"__Certainly," said Draco, grinning at his father. "I'd be honored."_

Oh, the thrill of being young and a Death Eater. Hermione's patience and forgiveness would be stretched rather thin. And it was destroying him on the inside.

Yes, he knew that one day, his father would talk about him becoming a Death Eater. And Draco always knew that he'd accept. Ever since that summer after first year and he had the "pure-blood purity talk" he'd accept it. He truly _did _grow to look down upon muggle-borns, half-bloods, and blood-traitors. And he still did, to a certain extent, out of habit. Hermione was just the exception to the rule, and that was what made loving her so difficult. He was going to be a pure-blood Death Eater, and she was going to be a muggle-born that fought against them.

Draco finally had made his way to his dormitory. Thankfully, Charlotte wasn't in the common room. He opened the door to his room, with the intention of resting through breakfast; somehow, he'd lost his appetite. But when he pulled back the privacy curtains that were hanging around his bed, he suddenly regained some sort of hope through the rough time.

Laying all across his bed were various types of sweets and small gifts. And they weren't just the cheap sort of kind that you could get anywhere in Hogsmeade; these were sent out for. They clearly weren't from the wizarding world, either. These were all muggle gifts, and if Draco was being honest with himself, they really _did _look quite promising. In the middle of the pile was a small, pretty little card, with unmistakable handwriting:

_I thought that you might like these; in the muggle world, they're quite mundane, but I know that you haven't had exposure to these sorts of things. And it's all right if you don't like them, of course, but after that conversation we had about the confiscation of muggle toys from you, I thought that maybe I could sneak you some at Hogwarts; they can't confiscate them here! I didn't send them to you over the break because I didn't want that to happen; sorry it's so belated, but I did want to get you something . . . well, I got a lot of things, I guess!_

_Anyway, we'll get to talk soon enough. I want to hear all about the rest of your break. I hope things get better for you!_

_Love,_

_H. G._

Draco reread the letter countless times, as he clipped a particularly cute bear keychain to his belt loop. It wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it felt to him like she had just written the next great work of literature. And it was all in a letter, addressed to him, sent with a bunch of presents and signed with love.

_Oh, Hermione, is _that _what friends do? Because apparently they hold hands and hug and kiss each other on the cheek. So do they sign their letters with love? Do they send a bunch of the most charming gifts to your room behind your parents' backs? I think we're blurring the lines between being friends and something more . . . and let me just say that I like that. I love that. And sometimes I want nothing more than to completely have you all to myself and for us to cut ourselves off to the rest of the world. It'd be a universe of us, just the two of us, and there'd be no blood status issues or Death Eaters or anything. That sounds enough like a paradise to me, and if you need an escape, too, I'll be there waiting for you._

* * *

The rest of the break had passed at a rate that was ridiculously slow; to Hermione, at least. While everyone else seemed reluctant to let go of the holidays, she was more than ready to go back to school, if only to see Draco again.

She hadn't been able to talk to him ever since they had met up in Diagon Alley; she assumed that with his family situation being the way it was, he simply couldn't answer her when she tried to contact him. She knew that he wouldn't have a reason to shut her out. It was just the problems with his family, and she was sure that he was ready to go back to school as well.

They were back now, and Hermione was waiting with Harry and Ron outside for Hagrid to show up for Care of Magical Creatures class. They were the first ones there; all of the other students must've been a bit sluggish after the break. And Hagrid wasn't exactly always timely, either, so the three were left to their own devices.

One person who was very timely, however, was Charlotte Butler. She strode up to Hermione, wearing an expression that was a cross between looking somewhat miffed and completely excited. And that's probably exactly what she was; she had gotten to snog Draco Malfoy, yes, but he did cut their time together rather short.

Hermione had been waiting the entire duration of the holidays to confront Charlotte as soon as possible. And while Draco wasn't officially seeing anyone, it didn't change the fact that Charlotte's actions were simply wrong in every way. Wasn't she his friend? Friends didn't act like that; Hermione had been discovering what friends _did _do over the past few weeks, and snogging him in his room wasn't exactly on the list.

And most people were still oblivious. Harry and Ron were arguing about something that Hermione automatically ignored, for her sanity's sake. She took the initiative to head towards Charlotte, whose face seemed to brighten up more when she saw her.

"Hermione, it's so nice to see you!" she said, pulling her into a hug. "You simply won't _believe _what happened after you left ―"

"I think I've got an idea," said Hermione, rather coldly.

Charlotte's face fell at her tone. "Is something wrong?"

"Just you," Hermione replied. "You're just evidently not the person I thought you were."

"What are you talking about?" Charlotte asked.

"The night that you left," whispered Hermione, so that Harry and Ron wouldn't overhear, "I know that you tried to seduce Draco Malfoy."

Charlotte took a deep breath and her eyes shifted aside. "Oh, that . . . well, I was going to tell you what happened, but it seems you've gotten a twisted idea for yourself ―"

"It's not _twisted_!" said Hermione. "You know very well what you did, and it wasn't right, Charlotte! You can't act like that!"

"We didn't do anything," Charlotte said, through gritted teeth. "There was no harm done."

Hermione shook her head. "You didn't see what it did to Draco ―"

"What happened to Draco?"

Charlotte gasped sharply as she turned aside, noticing that Pansy Parkinson had made her way over to them. Hermione didn't know how much of the conversation that Pansy had heard, but all she knew was that Pansy's attention was fixed more on Charlotte, and not on her. Pansy looked between the two girls, placed her hands on her hips, and raised her eyebrows.

"Well?" she asked. "What happened to Draco? I barely got to see him at breakfast, is something wrong with him?"

Hermione almost felt bad for Pansy because of the pleading tone in her voice. She now knew what it felt like to have such feelings for someone; she understood why Pansy was so upset at the simple mention of something happening to Draco.

"Well, _I'm _not sure if something's wrong with him," said Hermione, shooting daggers at Charlotte. "I haven't gotten close enough to check."

Pansy could be naïve sometimes, but she wasn't entirely stupid. She immediately caught on and glared at Charlotte, looking ready to choke her. Hermione laughed on the inside; Charlotte deserved it. While Pansy was annoying, Charlotte was just fake, and proved herself as such. That whole "shy, studious girl" thing was an act, and Hermione was angry that she didn't notice it sooner.

Hermione tore her eyes away from the impending catfight and noticed Draco walking to where they were all waiting, flanked by a few other Slytherins. Hermione's heart sank a little ― she _did _want to see him alone again ― but it was probably for the better, given the circumstances. But Draco, perhaps, had other plans; he beckoned for her to meet up with him, muttering something to the others about Dumbledore and prefect duties. She slipped away from the fight as quietly as she could, while the rest of the Slytherins crowded around the girls to watch everything unfold. When she caught up with him, he took hold of her hand and pulled her behind a nearby tree.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he whispered. "What's going on down there?"

"Charlotte and Pansy are getting into an argument," she replied, looking over to the pair of girls, who were currently screaming at each other. "Pansy got a hint about some most unCharlotte-like activities and went berserk. . . ."

Draco's eyes widened. "So I'll have to deal with her during class, then?"

"Do be careful," Hermione pleaded. "Pansy's livid, and she might get a little violent."

"I'll try," he said. He stuffed his hands in his pockets nervously, but then pulled his right hand out quickly. "Oh, I forgot I had that in there. . . ." He pulled out the end of the keychain, which he concealed in his pocket to avoid unwanted teasing.

Hermione grinned. "So you got it, then?"

"Among the other things you sent," he replied, smiling back. "When I saw it, I figured that attaching it to my belt loop would be a good idea . . . won't lose it then, you see."

"I didn't know it would be that special, it's so small," said Hermione, looking down at the bear. "I just thought you'd like it."

"It'd be pretty difficult for you to get me something and have me _not _like it," he said. They both looked up, and noticed Hagrid coming down the pathway to his hut. Draco turned back to Hermione, smirked, and leaned into her ear. "Its name is Jean," he whispered, before darting as quickly as he could towards the other Slytherins without so much as a glance back at her.

Hermione closed her eyes, letting the heat creep up into her face without warning, but praying all the same that no one was watching her and Draco while they were talking. No, they were too fixed on Pansy and Charlotte's fight, which Hagrid had to break up with the help of some other students. She ran down the path and met up with Harry and Ron.

"Where were you?" Ron asked. "Did you see Pansy? I had no idea that Charlotte could get so angry. . . ."

"I was with Malfoy," she replied.

Harry turned to Hermione and raised his eyebrows, but not suspiciously. "Prefect duties, I assume?"

Hermione nodded, hoping that they didn't notice just how red her face still was. "Yes, it's the first day back, so we had to make sure everything was still normal ― well, never mind, class is starting."

Care of Magical Creatures class tended to get rather tedious after a while. Despite how much Hermione liked Hagrid personally, she found it difficult to enjoy the classes when he was constantly bringing in the most ungodly of creatures to study and care for.

But every so often during class ― well, the majority of the class, really ― Hermione would catch Draco staring at her, like she was some creature that they would study. But maybe not Hagrid's creatures; those usually appalled him. No, he was staring at her in an almost fascinated manner. His face was rather blank . . . but his eyes, those smoldering grey eyes, were staring at her in the most intense and exciting way. And whenever she'd look up, she'd lock eyes with him for a brief moment, and he'd drop his gaze. But eventually that intense gaze turned to one of desperation. Charlotte and Pansy were on either side of him, hissing questions to him when Hagrid wasn't paying attention. Hermione eventually caught the girls' eyes as well; she shot them her most horrible glare, and they promptly ceased bickering over Draco, but also watched Hermione with a curious expression.

_Of course they're curious. I'm standing up for Draco after they've just fought over him. They'll have their accusations soon enough. Well, let it be, then. I can't please everyone . . . not that I'd exactly want to make those two happy in the first place. I'm just a little worried about how this all will pan out, and if things work out between Draco and I, that'll be worrisome . . . nobody can know. If they can't know about our friendship, then they can't know about anything else. And that's horrible. I guess I'll have to embrace my Gryffindor side and just be bold._

_And if loving Draco Malfoy isn't bold, then I don't know what is._


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Oh my gosh. I don't think you realize how sorry I am about how long this has taken me to update. I love writing so much, but life gets in the way a lot. School sort of crept up on me and this whole week has been non-stop work. But I'm going to try as best I can to be more consistent in my updates. Again, I am very, very sorry for how long this has taken. Anyway, thanks to all of my readers, and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!**

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The days were beginning to feel more different. Life almost felt rushed now. Not in an entirely bad sense, but the days felt like they were moving by more quickly. Hermione was quite fond of this; the sooner this school year was over, the better. She felt like she had been neglecting her friends, and that made her feel guilty. All of her attention had begun to be focused entirely on everything that was Draco Malfoy, and that was so out of her nature. What started with polite conversations and friendly contact had rapidly transformed into some sort of raging, passionate beast that was tearing her apart. They were only friends. But he did snog female Slytherin supposed friends numbers one and two, after all.

Her friends still loved her, of course. But even they were noticing the distance that was gradually forming in their relationships. Much to Hermione's surprise, Ginny was the first to point this out to her.

"So, you're promoting all of that 'House unity' stuff now?" asked Ginny, who sat by the fireplace in the Gryffindor common room.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, taking a seat beside her on the couch.

Ginny laughed. "You're spending a lot of time with the Slytherins ― well, I guess more like Malfoy and Charlotte, but . . . I just didn't know you got along with their lot at all."

"I'm not friends with Charlotte ― or Malfoy, of course," Hermione added, rather hastily. "I just happen to run into them quite often. . . ."

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "I'm not accusing you of anything. If I was accusing anyone it'd be one of them, because it almost seems like they're making detours."

"Detours? Detours for what?"

"For you, Hermione."

Hermione's face flushed a deep red that would blend in perfectly with the brightly colored walls of the room. And the sort of fire she felt in herself was so much more intense than the one that the two girls now watched, refusing to look at each other for Hermione's sake.

Ginny obviously knew Hermione was embarrassed about this, but Hermione had never thought about everything in the way that Ginny had suggested. Ever since Hermione had become friends with Draco, they seemed to run into each other more often. And she naïvely dubbed this coincidence. She thought that maybe it just seemed like they met more often because they were actually paying attention to each other. Well, it was like that at its core, but she thought it because of different reasons. She didn't think it was related to any sort of intentions at all. But even Hermione wasn't naïve enough to believe that this was just trying to strengthen a friendship. Whether he liked it or not, he had a crush on her, and she knew. Hermione was thinking about how they could maybe make a relationship work when Ginny tugged the sleeve of her sweater.

"You still there?" Ginny asked, giggling.

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sorry, I got lost in thought, I guess. . . ."

"Well, I guess I should give this to you sometime tonight," said Ginny. She pulled a small package out of her bag and handed it to Hermione. "I was told to deliver this to you . . . I promise I didn't look at it. I was trying to get around to talking about it but I guess I got sidetracked . . . sorry if I made you angry."

"You didn't," said Hermione, with a smile. "Thank you."

Ginny nodded. "I'll talk to you later, then. I don't want you to be late for your patrol."

Hermione nodded. This would be her first patrol ever since they returned to school. Thankfully this was no longer something to be feared.

Hermione wandered aimlessly around the Hogwarts corridors. It really was a beautiful school; it surely made staying there for months on end much easier. And her friends were like family, of course. That helped as well. Harry and Ron were her brothers, Ginny was her little sister, and Draco . . . well, she'd cross that bridge when she got there.

Students still littered the hallways on their way to their common rooms. Of course Draco wouldn't show up just yet. He had a mask to put on, if only for a few more, tedious minutes. And she couldn't patrol until he showed up. So she continued to pace, passively glancing at a student or two to make sure that they weren't causing any trouble. . . . But not that they really would anymore, with Umbridge around.

She looked up and saw Draco walking towards her. He seemed exasperated. Hermione looked around to see if anyone had caused it, but all of the students had gone to their common rooms already. It was just them again, alone. Funny how that could play out. And yet nothing ever happened.

"You're late," Hermione teased, hoping to ease the tension.

Draco nodded and managed a weak smile that almost came off as a grimace. "Yeah, I know." He kept his gaze fixed at a point just past her, and slowly looked down at the ground under their feet. "Your feet are sort of small, you know."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

He brought his gaze up to her eyes, a smirk growing on his face.

"Your feet are small," he said, pointing to her shoes. "I've never noticed that before."

Hermione didn't know whether to laugh, smile, or anything at all. "And . . . may I ask how this is relevant?"

He nodded. "Your hands are small, too ― that's not a bad thing, don't make that face."

"I just didn't know you were paying attention," she said, managing a smile. "That's a bit odd, don't you think?"

He paused for a moment, smirked again, and shook his head. "Nope, I don't think so. I'm naturally observant . . . for example, your left eyebrow arches higher than your right one, and the very top of your quill has just a hint of black. Unless, of course, you're using that other quill that's gold and dark brown; I don't like that one as much, but whatever, it's your stupid quill. You draw little otters on things, but they tend to look a little longer and skinnier than any otter I know; maybe you'd better take up an art class, you could use it. . . . Shall I continue?"

Hermione smirked in a way worthy of a Malfoy. "You know, usually men aren't as observant when it comes to women unless they have very strong emotions towards them."

"I would agree with that," said Draco. "Yeah, when I hate a girl I typically take note of a few details. Can't you think of anyone?"

Hermione sighed. She knew exactly what he was talking about. When they were younger, he often pointed out that she had larger front teeth, was nearly falling over with all of her books, and that she would lift up off of her seat sometimes when she raised her hand in class.

"But when men mature," she began, "then they grow past that sort of childish behavior and focus their attentions more on their loved ones rather than their enemies. Wouldn't that be an easier way to live?"

He nodded. "Of course. And I daresay I have matured to that point. Don't you go thinking I've never loved a girl, Hermione, believe me. I know what it feels like . . . and you've loved a guy before. Tell me, was he mature enough for you?" He shrugged. "I don't know, I've just been wanting to ask you about how you handled that sort of thing. . . . You know, with Krum."

She took a deep breath, and looked him directly in the eye. "I don't know if I would've called that _love_. . . ."

"I understand that," he said. "But you were still with him, weren't you? You had a relationship of sorts. And don't tell me you've never contacted him after he left. I'd bet you're still in contact with him . . . am I correct?"

"Well . . . yes," she breathed, "but how did you know ― ?"

He held a hand up to stop her. "I'm observant, remember? I'm not trying to stalk you or anything. I just happen to know a lot about you. . . . Now. What I'm trying to get at is, I don't know how to maintain relationships with very physical, childishly lustful beings. And you seem to have experience with that . . . I'm not trying to degrade you for it, mind you. We all make mistakes."

"Mistakes?" she asked, bewildered. "You're saying that being with Krum was a mistake?"

"You're damn right I am," he replied. "Just like being with Pansy was a mistake for me . . . except I'm still sort of there. That's my point, Hermione. I don't know how to get away from her. I don't want her here; I want her gone. I want her out of my life because all she does is cause trouble. She and I were both very physical, childishly lustful beings. But I'm not that way anymore . . . at the very least, I'm not trying to be."

Hermione shook her head. "I just don't see how being with Viktor was a mistake."

"Fine, I'll explain then," said Draco, rather heatedly. "He's what, eighteen years old? Maybe nineteen now? He sure as hell isn't in school anymore. He's a world-famous Quidditch player, so naturally everyone wants in on it . . . I know I did when I was younger. You were fourteen at the Yule Ball, and you were dancing with an eighteen-year-old who had already graduated. He was an adult."

"He wasn't that much older!"

"Well, I'm sorry that I don't exactly like the idea of a fourteen-year-old girl snogging a legal adult. Anything could've happened to you that night. And where would you have been then?"

"I'm a witch, in case you've forgotten," she said. "I can protect myself fine, thank you."

"What about that Death Eater attack, then?" he asked. "I had to tell your precious little Potter and Weasley that they were hunting muggles and mudbloods. I had to tell them to get you out of there, because they were just parading you around like you were invincible. Well, here's a surprise: you're not. The brightest witch of her age needs to depend on people once in a while. Everyone needs to rely on someone once in a while. That's why _I_ am coming to _you _for more advice. I didn't realize that it would be so offensive to you; I thought we were past that."

"We are past that!" she said. "You just brought Viktor into this for absolutely no reason! And that night of the Death Eater attack, I thought that you were just being rude ―"

"Well, you thought wrong. Didn't know a Malfoy could have a heart, did you?"

"But your delivery is always so horrible! You always come off so rudely, don't you see that? It's your tone, Draco! I didn't read any further into it because I didn't think there was much else to it!"

"I was trying to help you!" he near-snarled. "I was trying to save ― look, I just didn't want my classmate hurt, all right? I was already a little freaked out that Death Eaters were burning down a camp. When you're fourteen, that's pretty alarming. Do you think I would've wanted to see you get caught in that, honestly?"

"At that time, yes!" she exclaimed. "Draco, you hated me, and you always made sure that I knew that ―"

"I've _never_ hated you."

The two looked each other dead in the eye, although they both began to slowly loosen up. No matter how red his face turned, no matter how sweaty his palms got, Draco refused to look away. This was too important. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and prepared for the worst.

"You're going to listen to me," he said slowly. "Don't interrupt me. . . . Please.

"First year. I ― I had a huge crush on you. I thought you were brilliant . . . and, well, you are; that much is obvious.

"Second year. My father told me that muggle-borns were inferior to pure-bloods. And being the immature little shit I was, I wanted nothing more than to make him proud. That's still important to me, and I'm sure it always will be. So I had to make you hate me in the hopes that I wouldn't get too attached.

"Third year. It was becoming something I couldn't fight. I still liked you. Yeah, I did things that made you unhappy, and called you names that were terrible, but that didn't change how I felt.

"But fourth year was when it really started to hit me. By that time, I had started to date Pansy to try to get you off of my mind . . . needless to say, it didn't work; those are two totally different leagues. But that Yule Ball . . . God, Hermione." He shook his head and closed his eyes. "You were gorgeous. I don't think you realize just how badly I wanted to get rid of Pansy and finally get to you.

"Well, that didn't happen, obviously, but it made me realize just how perfect you really are. You're brilliant. You're beautiful. You're the nicest person I've ever met. . . . I could go on forever. That's why I came to you about Pansy. I wanted to get rid of her once and for all so that there was less in my way to get to you. I brought up Krum because I thought I might persuade you to look for someone else . . . you would be open, too. I thought it'd be perfect . . . but I think I see where your affections really lie. I was stupid to think that maybe you'd return the favor. . . . But let me leave you with this.

"Clearly you need more out of someone than just physical attention. You need emotional support. Well, so do I, and with the way things seem to be heading, I think we could agree that it'd be helpful to have a bit of that in our lives. I don't know about you, Hermione, but I think we could help each other out. All I'm asking is that you allow me to love you the way I want to. And these aren't just words. I've never been so passionate about something or someone that I could talk about it like this. And trust me, I had a lot of pride to swallow when I decided I'd let you know. That's how much you mean to me. That's how important all of this is to me. So take it or leave it."

He slipped his hands in his pockets and began to walk away toward the Slytherin dungeons. Hermione was frozen for a few seconds, but found it in herself to follow quickly after him.

"Draco?" she whispered, stopping behind him.

He stopped walking. "What?"

"That ― that was quite possibly the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

She walked around to face him, looking him straight in the eyes.

"Yes, that is the sweetest thing I've ever heard. . . . Draco, I had no idea how much ―"

"I get it," he said. "But you still haven't answered me yes or no."

"Draco, it's a lot to take in ―"

"I get it, Hermione."

And despite her desperate calls to get him to turn around and talk to her, he continued on his slow, lonely walk to the Slytherin dungeons without a single look back.

* * *

Hermione cried herself to sleep the previous night. And even then, she got very little sleep. The entire day she couldn't even focus on her studies because of what had happened on that patrol.

She wanted to tell him. Oh, how she wanted to tell him! . . . But something kept her from doing it, and that little something was pride. Yes, she had reached that point. She was more prideful than a Malfoy.

But wasn't it his fault? If he had turned around while she was calling him, she would be able to tell him. That was his own ignorance. He had jumped to conclusions about her and Viktor. And that wasn't fair, was it? He didn't even give her the chance to defend herself.

But he loved her anyway. It wasn't just the childish lust they were talking about. This wasn't like the crush she assumed that he had. No, this was something so much greater. It was a passionate, protective, and borderline selfish love. He wanted her to himself, and hated the idea of her being with anyone else. Anyone who wasn't him was a mistake in his eyes. Well, he had fooled around with Pansy much more than she had with Viktor. Not to mention that he nearly went so far with Charlotte.

But his love for Hermione seemed purer than that. He said himself that it wasn't lust. He didn't want just one little thing from her; he wanted all of her. Her brilliance, her sweetness, her beauty, her everything. She was pure, barely tainted by the evils of the world. Someone like her would be the epitome of beauty to someone like him. He needed someone that could guide him, someone who could provide the love he so desperately needed.

She wanted to cry again. She couldn't be angry at him anymore. Just by confessing he had given her more than she ever could have imagined. And she needed someone like him, too. He clearly wanted nothing more than her protection.

It was like a valuable, rare gem. Many people give up their personal funds to ensure its safety. They want it protected because it's so rare. That's what makes it valuable.

Draco wanted to protect her because he thought of her as so rare and awe-inspiring. He was willing to give up his pride in order to pay the price for her. She needed to see that he was open, that he could care so deeply for someone. And it didn't seem like Malfoys cared for too much.

She gently wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks away. She couldn't let anyone see her cry. She was in the middle of a DA meeting, and they were practicing Patronus Charms.

This was something Hermione had trouble with for quite some time. Yes, she had strong, happy memories, but they never quite took a form anymore; she hadn't been able to produce a corporeal Patronus for months.

Little silvery-blue animals danced across the room above her head. Nobody else seemed to be having much trouble at all. She closed her eyes and racked her brain for a memory. She'd have to get one to at least try.

_Draco just confessed his deep, passionate love for me. He swallowed his Malfoy pride and admitted he loves a mudblood. Draco Malfoy is madly, truly, deeply in love with Hermione Granger._

And with a flick of her wand, she exclaimed "_Expecto Patronum!_"

Draco was right; her otters didn't really look like otters. That's because they weren't otters. She never drew otters. She was drawing ferrets. And that was exactly what little form burst from the tip of her wand. Oh, how it'd kill Draco to find that out.

She could feel herself smiling again for the first time since last night. It felt glorious, like everything in the world was perfect. She was beaming on the way out of the meeting, hoping that maybe she'd run into Draco and she'd have the courage to confess as well. . . .

Well, once she turned that corner, she knew she didn't have to wait long.

They were face to face with Umbridge, with the Inquisitorial Squad behind her, including a rather apologetic-looking Draco Malfoy.

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**A/N: Evidently long breaks produce sap-tastic dialogue and cliffhangers. Well.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Okiedokie, so here's the continuation of that last chapter. This is somewhat of an abridged version of the interrogation scene in OotP, I guess . . . just with more Dramione, haha. Reviews are very much appreciated. c:**

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At the very least, Draco was kind enough to hold onto her very gently on the long walk to Umbridge's office. He had taken it upon himself to lead Hermione along, knowing that anyone else would likely try to hurt her on the way. And after everything that happened, that was the last thing he wanted for her. He kept a gentle grip on her left arm, and walked behind the rest of the Inquisitorial walked close enough beside her to be able to carry a very quiet, whispered conversation.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, leaning into her ear, "but I swear I didn't tell Umbridge anything."

"You didn't exactly stop anyone either," she snapped.

"Excuse me, but you couldn't possibly think that I wanted you guys to get caught. Be reasonable."

She looked up at him, her eyes narrowed. He was quite a bit taller than her. She hated that right now; it wasn't exactly good for standing up for herself.

"Well, if you loved me so much, you'd help me out," she snarled.

His grip on her arm tightened as his face flushed red. "Don't you dare use that against me, Granger."

"So, what, I'm _Granger_ now?" she asked. "Really, we're back to surnames? I suppose you'll be calling me 'mudblood'next ― ?"

"You're going to tell me what the hell I did that made you upset, and you're going to tell me now."

She scoffed. "I'm not taking orders from ―"

"Just do it."

She was silent for a few thoughtful moments. It really wasn't his fault. But, he had the power to stop them, didn't he? He could have swept in and saved the day!

. . . But that wouldn't exactly go well for anyone.

She took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind and calm down. "Look, I'm sorry, but I'm not exactly glad that we got caught by your friends."

"They've known for a while," he said. "I mean, about your little club. They've just never been able to catch you. Now they have, and here we are."

"But you couldn't even try to help?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Stop accusing me. This isn't my fault. I kept your secrets for months. I didn't tip anyone off. Don't accuse me, understand? If I could've helped you without getting my ass kicked, I would, believe me."

She sighed. "Fine. I apologize for accusing you of things you didn't do. But you still need to apologize for your attitude."

"What attitude?" he asked. "You started it ―"

"I'm not getting into a childish argument with you, Draco. I only want an owed apology."

He scowled at her. "You're so irritating."

She smirked. "Well, you are, too, but I've forgiven you for it."

"I really, _really_ can't stand you. . . . I'm sorry. Happy?"

"Very," she said, with a smile. "Now loosen your grip on my arm, it's hurting a little."

It was a quick reaction. He immediately jerked his hand back, but then returned to gently holding her arm to not arouse suspicion. It was a weird feeling. He had never taken orders from someone who wasn't technically an authority over him.

His thoughts drifted back to his confession. He had told her. He really told her. He knew that one day, someone would say something. But in his mind, it was always her that was confessing, while he listened to her and welcomed her love with open arms. He never imagined, in his wildest dreams, that he'd be the one who confessed first. He needed to get it off of his chest, though. In a way, it felt good. But she currently wasn't showing any signs of confessing herself, or even considering his offer to her.

He wanted to bring it up, but that hardly seemed tactful. The moment was too tense to attempt such a conversation. Maybe if he worded it in the form of an apology. . . . But that wasn't something to apologize about. She must've been playing hard-to-get. He knew she liked him, even if it wasn't as much as he loved her. Maybe it was equal, but he didn't know that for sure. All he knew was that the brightest witch of her age wasn't exactly as subtle as she seemed to think she was. But maybe Hermione would save him from having to try to bring it up.

She looked up at him intently. "When this is over, we need to talk."

"About what?" he asked, as innocently as he could."About what you said yesterday," she replied. "Listen, I need to tell you that ―"

He shook his head. "Tell me later, we're here."

Umbridge's office had never felt more menacing. It was usually hard to take someone seriously if their office walls were covered with cats. But with the power Umbridge had now, anything could happen to them here.

"Do you know how you ended up here?" Umbridge asked.

They didn't need to give her an answer. One look at Marietta Edgecombe's poorly-concealed face told them everything.

"Impressive jinx," Draco whispered in Hermione's ear.

"I'll make this simple for you," Umbridge said. "You'll either tell us the intent of your group ― "Dumbledore's Army," did you call it? ― or you'll suffer the consequences for not owning up to your mistakes. And the consequences . . . they may be rather harsh. We don't have

to make this difficult. Just tell me what happened, and everything will be fine. . . . Ah, how about you enlighten us, Mr. Potter?"

Umbridge now stood directly in front of Harry, who looked livid. His arms were held tightly behind him by Crabbe and Goyle so that he couldn't retaliate physically. Most everyone present knew Harry did have a tendency to react not-so-politely to people he didn't like, regardless of their age or authority.

"This has nothing to do with you," he spat.

Upon further examination, Draco realized that Harry didn't just look livid; he looked sick. As if he was worried about something. He had heard somewhere that Harry had first seen Arthur Weasley get attacked in a dream, and that was how he knew to alert the proper authorities. Maybe something else had happened. Well, Hermione wouldn't be too happy about that, either.

Draco leaned into her ear again. "Did something happen? Like in his dreams again?"

"I ― I don't know," she replied. "He hasn't told me anything so far . . . but then again, I don't spend much time with them anymore these days. . . ."

"With who, Potter and Weasley?" he asked. "They're your closest friends."

"Two of them," she replied. "But with the night shifts, and everything that's been happening lately. . . ."

"Such as?"

Draco raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and when Hermione opened her mouth to speak, she was cut off by a quickly opened door and the sound of Professor Snape's footsteps.

Hermione sighed exasperatedly. "Why is he here?"

Draco didn't answer. He, too, had no idea why Snape came in. They must've missed Umbridge's request for him to come to her office while they were having their short-lived conversation.

"She's trying to get a dose of Veritaserum to use on Harry," he said. "But it looks like Snape's not exactly obliging."

"He's got Padfoot!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, facing Snape. "He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden!"

Umbridge looked bewildered. Draco had to work hard to stifle his oncoming fit of laughter. If there was anything Umbridge hated, it was not fully understanding what was going on, because it usually meant people were hiding something from her.

And Snape left, having no duty left to perform, with his black robes billowing after him. Umbridge was clearly furious.

"Well, we don't have much of a choice left, do we?" she said, as Crabbe and Goyle pushed Harry into one of her office chairs. "Maybe the Cruciatus Curse will loosen your tongue ―"

"That's illegal!" Hermione cried. "You can't perform Unforgivable Curses on students, that's barbaric!"

Draco's grip on her arm tightened. "Are you mental?" he hissed. "Do you want to be next?"

"I'm not going to watch one of my best friends get tortured by a sadistic, evil toad!" she snapped.

"Well, I'm not about to watch one of _my_ best friends get tortured for standing up for him!"

"What the Minister doesn't know won't hurt him," said Umbridge, with a dismissive wave of her hand. No one seemed to have heard anything Draco and Hermione said to each other, much to Draco's ease.

"Come on, Potter," said Draco, raising his voice so everyone could hear. "Don't be stupid. You're wasting everyone's time. Stop trying to be such a hero and just tell everyone what the deal is."

Hermione glared at him, but her features slowly began to soften. She didn't dare bring her voice above a whisper when she mouthed, "Are you helping us?"

"Just go along with it," he whispered back.

Hermione and Draco had always been known to never get along. Everyone knew that they hated each other; well, they _did_ act that way towards each other for quite some time, anyway. But this was going to be a different experience entirely; they were going to have to pretend to fight. They would stage an argument in front of everyone. It was genius, but so many things could go wrong. But it was well worth the risk if it meant saving a life.

"Now isn't the time for spiteful comments, really!" said Hermione, as condescendingly as she could. "Harry, don't listen to him!"

"Well, it's true," he snapped. "He needs to hear that he can't just be a hero all the time. If he tries to play the hero constantly, he's going to die from it. Then where would you be? Where would any of your army be?"

Hermione tried to look as if she was considering his statements. "Harry . . . I never thought I'd say this, but I think he might be right. . . . Just tell her what's going on, Harry."

Harry looked at her like she was insane. "What?"

"Fine. If you won't, then I will." She turned her gaze to Umbridge. "Dumbledore's Army was founded in order to prevent a . . . well, a secret weapon of sorts from being discovered. We were trying to hone our skills to fight anyone who tried to find it. But you've won. You've found us out. We only owe you the right to know what exactly is going on. . . . We'll take you to the weapon, if you'd like."

Umbridge paused for a moment, but eventually nodded. "Yes, that would be lovely. You and Mr. Potter will accompany me on the way to go see it."

Draco looked up at Umbridge hopefully. "Professor, may I go with you?"

"And why would you need to do that?" Umbridge asked.

"He's only curious about the weapon," said Hermione. "Don't let him go, Professor, he's just trying to get his hands on it ―"

"But let's just say that they ambush you," Draco interjected, his grip on Hermione's arms tightening. "How would you call for help ― ?"

"She's a _witch_, she doesn't need you to help her ―"

"But let's just _say_ ―"

"There's nothing to say about it, _Malfoy_ ―"

"Well, something could be said about your attitude, _Granger_ ―"

"ENOUGH!"

Umbridge stared at the two, exasperated. Draco no longer had her hands held behind her back; while they were arguing, he walked around and stood directly in front of her, so close that the tips of their noses almost brushed against each other. He was close enough to kiss her, if he wanted. But he settled for the devious, adorable little smirk she shot him instead.

"A fine point, Draco," said Umbridge. "You may accompany us as well, for safety reasons."

"And I will help you in any way I possibly can," said Draco, not breaking his eye contact with Hermione.

Hermione tried as hard as she could to suppress the satisfied look that was growing on her face. "Fine, we can't have it any other way. Let's go, Harry."

* * *

The four of them were all very quiet on the journey out of Hogwarts and toward the Forbidden Forest. Umbridge had decided to trail a fair distance behind the students, but not without Draco keeping a constant watch on her. Draco was trying his best to not walk alongside Harry, who looked like he had something to say to him. But eventually, Harry caught up and caught Draco's eye.

"What do you want, Potter?" he mumbled, so that Umbridge wouldn't hear their impending argument. "If it's about how I ratted you out, I don't want to hear it. I was doing my job, and I'd think you'd better focus your anger on that Marietta girl.""It's not about that," said Harry. "And I can't believe I'm talking to you about this, but it's about Hermione."

Draco's stern expression flickered slightly. "What about her?"

"I saw you in Umbridge's office," Harry explained. "You two were having a conversation, I could tell. You didn't look at each other very much, but you were whispering things to her in her ear."

Draco glared at him. "So what, you think I actually like the mudblood or something?"

Harry blinked, surprised. "Er . . . no, that's not actually what I thought at all. I was just curious as to why your conversation seemed so civil."

"What's it to you, Potter?" Draco snarled, pushing him aside. "Hey, Hermione, how much farther is it? We can't walk that deep into the forest, you know. . . . God knows what's out there this time of night, and I don't exactly want to end up in the hospital wing. . . ."

Harry looked at Draco, his eyebrows raised. "_Hermione_? Not _mudblood_? Not even _Granger_?"

Draco could feel his face heating up. What a stupid, stupid mistake. He knew that he'd have to go all or nothing on this one.

"In case you haven't noticed, Potter, she and I patrol together. And some people prefer being called by their first names and get pretty bitchy if no one obliges."

"So you did what she wanted, then?"

"Yes, I did. Because I, unlike you, am a gentleman to all ladies," said Draco, rather smugly.

Harry snorted. "Even 'mudbloods'? I thought you said a while back that muggle-borns didn't exactly fit your idea of a lady."

Draco shook his head. "A lady is a lady, Potter, regardless of her blood status."

"So patrolling with her changed your mind?"

Draco scowled at him, shoved him again, and sped up towards Hermione. He needed someone else to talk to.

"So how much further is it?" he asked, once he had caught up with her. "I'm bored."

"Oh, God forbid," said Hermione, giggling. Her face quickly fell as she looked down at the ground, where a broken piece of rope was laying. "I don't know, it's supposed to be right here. . . ."

Suddenly, an arrow hit a tree behind them, and Hermione knew exactly what was coming.

"What was that?" Umbridge asked, her wand out and pointed in the general direction of the arrow's fire. "This is an ambush, isn't it? Well, Draco, I'm glad you came, you can ―"

Umbridge was interuppted by the firing of dozens of arrows in their direction. Hermione quickly gripped Harry and Draco by the arms and pulled them down behind a nearby fallen tree.

"What are the arrows for?" Draco asked, brushing dirt off of his robes. "Where are they coming from?"

"Centaurs," Hermione breathed. "And keep your voice down, they can be dangerous ―"

"Hermione, exactly what was the weapon supposed to be?" Harry asked.

She sighed. "Did you see that length of rope on the ground? Well, that was attached to Grawp, and I guess he got free ―"

"You were taking us to Grawp?"

"Who the bloody hell is Grawp?" Draco asked.

Hermione turned to him, unsure of what to say. "Well . . . Grawp is . . . he's a friend of ours, you see. . . ."

"He's a giant," Draco said, looking at the ground near the rope. "Those footprints are huge. . . . You were taking us to a giant? That thing could kill someone, Hermione! . . . You're not trying to kill Umbridge, are you ― ?"

"No!" said Hermione. "No, not at all, trust me! It's just that . . . well, I wasn't sure what to do, and I sort of thought of it on a whim. . . ."

"It's brilliant, Hermione," said Harry, peering over the log. "This is great, don't worry about it."

Draco couldn't help but scowl at Harry. He was able to compliment her any time he wanted without it being strange, because they were accepted as friends to everyone at the school.

He tried to get it off of his mind by watching the scene with Umbridge. Centaurs were surrounding her, but they weren't hurting her physically; that was enough for the students to stay behind the tree. But what was an issue was the sound of sudden, loud footsteps coming towards them.

Hermione gasped sharply. "I think he's coming back. . . ."

Draco tore his gaze away from Umbridge and looked at Hermione. "Grawp, you mean?"

She nodded frantically, and looked over the fallen tree. Sure enough, Grawp was there. As he was so tall, he was able to see Harry and Hermione and get an idea of what was going on. He picked up Umbridge, trying to see why she would provoke the centaurs. Unfortunately for him, the centaurs began to shoot their arrows at him instead.

Hermione jumped over the log. "Stop, he doesn't understand what he's doing! Stop shooting at him! He's not the problem, be reasonable!"

Draco got up and ran behind her, gripping her arm tightly. "How many insane choices do you intend to make tonight?"

Harry was the next to follow, who stood at Hermione's other side. "They don't hurt children," he muttered. "They spare children because they're innocent. I had a run-in with them in first year; trust me, it's fine."

Grawp decided to put Umbridge down, but that only allowed the centaurs to get to her again. They promptly dragged her off, probably to further interrogate her about the doings of the ministry and their effects on the other magical creatures. The whole way, Umbridge called out for Draco to warn someone, and screamed at the centaurs for being "filthy half-breeds" who didn't have any right to even touch her.

Draco loosened his grip on Hermione's arm, changing it to a gentle, friendly hold. "You ― you just ― you just got rid of the worst professor Hogwarts has ever seen."

Hermione smiled lightly. "Well, technically the centaurs did ―"

"But who led her to them?" he asked, beginning to laugh. "And you just thought of that while we were in her office? Damn, Hermione, that was good. . . . And you're in Gryffindor _why_?"

She giggled. "I guess there's a bit of bravery in there somewhere. . . . What do you think, Harry?"

"I think Malfoy's lost his mind," Harry said, staring at Draco with a bewildered expression. "Did you just ― did you just compliment her?"

"I'd be a fool if I said she wasn't clever, Potter. Anyone can see that." He turned back to Hermione, impulsively pulling her into a hug. "And brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"Thank you." She turned to Harry, her face flushing red. Draco promptly let her go, also blushing furiously. She tried not to make eye contact with Draco for fear of further awkwardness. "We ― we should head back to the castle . . . we're prefects, we can cover for you, Harry. . . ."

And nobody spoke to each other the rest of the way to their dormitories.


	16. Chapter 16

"So you've befriended a Malfoy."

Harry peered at Hermione over the edge of his glass of juice, his eyebrows raised. Tonight was the first time that Harry had spoken to her today, because Ron had Quidditch practice and he was more focused on that. She kept fidgeting, trying to keep her gaze on anything but Harry.

"Just Draco," she said, staring at her lap. "Only Draco Malfoy."

"I think I got that far," Harry teased. "But I honestly didn't expect you two to become . . . _friends_. That sounds so odd, doesn't it ― ?"

"Yes, Harry, it's all very odd," she said. "I get it."

He placed his glass down on the table and narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you all right?"

"All right? _All right?_" She crossed her arms across the table and slammed her head into them. "No, I'm not _all right_, Harry. I'm sorry, but I'm just not. And it's not you, trust me. . . . Well, actually, it kind of _is _you. You weren't ―"

"Weren't _what_?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and looked him in the eye. "You weren't supposed to know we were friends."

"So you thought that hiding your friendship from me was a good idea?"

"Harry, I'm sorry, it's not that," she said. "It's just . . . I didn't know how you'd react, with you two being the way you are and all. . . ."

"I'm not saying I'm happy about it," he said, "but I'm not exactly in a position to tell you who to be friends with, am I? . . . Is Ron to know about this?"

"No," she said, hastily. "The less people, the better."

He smirked at her. "You're embarrassed to be friends with Malfoy, aren't you?"

She shook her head, but blushed. "No, no . . . I just don't want people to overreact. I don't think it's that big of a deal, but you never know how other people will react with all that House rivalry everywhere. I know for a fact Pansy Parkinson wouldn't be too pleased to hear it. She already thinks we're a bit too friendly . . . not like _that_, of course!" she added quickly, blushing harder.

He raised his eyebrows. "I didn't suspect you were like that, Hermione. It's funny, Malfoy actually jumped to the same conclusion last night ―"

"He _what_?" she hissed, leaning over the table.

"I was talking to Malfoy last night on the walk," he explained. "I was talking to him about you two. I saw you two having a conversation, in case you didn't notice. Well, I was surprised that you two were being so civil, to say the least, so I asked him about it. He immediately jumped to the conclusion that I was accusing him of liking you in a more-than-friendly manner."

As he took another sip of his juice, Hermione could feel her palms getting sweaty and her face getting hot.

"So you don't ― you don't actually _believe _that, do you?"

He shook his head. "Hermione, I'm not an idiot."

"Good," she said breathlessly, relieved by his reply.

He sat for a moment in silence and took another drink, and then turned to Hermione again.

"So how'd you do it, then?" he asked.

"Do what?"

"Make friends with him. Last time I checked you weren't very high up on his desirable females list. And that's no insult to you, that's just Malfoy."

She thought about it for a few moments. It really _was_ a strange thing to think about. They had both changed so much towards each other. He no longer hated her for what she couldn't change. She no longer hated him for hating her. But, it wasn't like they were both suddenly incredibly civil towards each others' respective Houses. There was still that matter of House rivalry, regardless of who were friends between the Houses. It wasn't like their friendship would unite everyone with all of that ingrained tension and animosity.

Still, it was comfortable enough for the two of them to remain on friendly terms. That was far from being an issue. But it was only each other, really. Draco still didn't take very kindly to those who he thought were below him. That was simply due to his nature and his upbringing. And Hermione still wasn't taking well to the Slytherins, either.

She smiled lightly. "I guess he just made an exception."

"That's quite an exception to make," said Harry. "Considering how his family's practically dripping in the Dark Arts. . . . It's impressive, Hermione, it really is . . . but it's still a little strange. It'll always be strange, assuming you two remain friends for quite some time. . . . Just how close are you two, anyway?"

Hermione considered not telling him. She didn't want him to think that she was divulging all of her secrets; some of those secrets had to do with other people, after all. But, she figured, Harry was still one of her best friends, and the one she had the longest. She could tell him anything.

"We ― we're very close friends, actually," she replied. "And . . . I'm not sure about this, of course, but I think . . . I mean, he's got Crabbe and Goyle, but . . . I think I might be his best friend, Harry."

Harry sat silently again, his glass of juice now empty. "You and Malfoy are best friends," he said slowly, as if trying to register it in his mind. "Pure-blood git Draco Malfoy and muggle-born genius Hermione Granger are best friends."

She rolled her eyes. "He's not a git," she snapped, but not very harshly. "He's just . . . I don't know. There's a side to him that he doesn't share with anyone else. He doesn't _want _to, and I don't believe he ever will."

"Can I bring up that thing I said earlier about him being romantically interested in you again?"

"We're _friends_, Harry," she said. "It's hard enough for Draco to befriend a girl who's a muggle-born . . . I'd say seeing her would be much, _much_ harder. He couldn't be interested even if he tried, he's too prejudiced. But I don't think he minds being friends and just talking to someone."

"Fair enough," said Harry. After only a few seconds, he changed the subject. "So . . . Dumbledore's gone."

Hermione glanced up at the staff table. It was a peculiar sight, not having Dumbledore right in the middle, having a conversation with one of the teachers or smiling down at the students. But, Umbridge wasn't there, either . . . her absence came at a cost.

"Listen," Harry said, interrupting Hermione's thoughts. "I think we need to make plans to infiltrate the ministry."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"If they've got Sirius ―"

She rolled her eyes again. "Harry, how do you know it's not fake ― ?"

"Was Arthur Weasley's attack fake?"

She sat silently and contemplated his words. It would be dangerous, very dangerous. But Hermione knew that it would be hard for Harry to lose one of his loved ones, especially one that was the only good family he had left.

"Fine," she said, slowly. "We'll go . . . but Harry, we need to be careful, they're probably _furious _about what happened to Umbridge. . . ."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I don't care. _We're going_. I'll get with Ron and talk to him about it."

"When is this going to happen?"

"Tomorrow morning, if we can," he replied. "That way I can see tonight if they've still got Sirius."

Hermione nodded and stood up from the table. "All right, I'll talk to Draco, I need to explain why I won't be there tomorrow. . . ."

"He wants to know this stuff?" Harry asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Yes, I guess we talk about a lot of things," she said. "Well . . . see you, Harry."

If a situation like this had arisen a few weeks ago, Hermione would've have gone straight to her dormitory, to write in her diary. And, perhaps, a time could be set aside later to do just that. But not now. She knew exactly what she had to do right now, as painful for multiple parties as it would be.

She'd have to break up with Viktor.

Draco seemed incredibly genuine when he told her that he liked her. And she liked him back, but unfortunately never got the chance to let him know just yet. Well, maybe she'd have to very soon. They couldn't go on like this forever, especially since he had already confessed that he liked her. It would be even more awkward to just ignore it. And he clearly wanted things to get a move on, too; after all, he was still a Malfoy, and when he wants something, he wants it right then and there.

But they couldn't move forward in their relationship as long as she was with Viktor. She obviously didn't hold any romantic feelings for him anymore; everything now was Draco. But she still wanted to be friends with him, that much was certain; but any romantic feelings between the two had to be settled. After all, she didn't know exactly what Viktor was up to back at home. For all she knew, he had found another girl already. She was surprised enough that such a physical being as Viktor would want to maintain a long-distance relationship with her. And as flattering as it was, that wasn't where her heart was. Maybe Draco was right; she needed a good emotional support.

So she set off towards her dormitory to write the letter that contained everything that needed to be said.

* * *

Draco never felt quite so guilty. Yes, what he told Hermione was true; he hadn't told Umbridge anything. He was innocent in that regard. He never would've imagined telling Umbridge about the DA. . . .

. . . But a certain Marietta Edgecombe might've.

She had probably wanted to do it for quite some time, judging by the way she acted about it. She would've snitched eventually. And Draco was probably the one who unintentionally convinced her to do it that night. While he was walking on the way to his dormitory, he ran into her, all alone. And, not wanting to be impolite, struck up a conversation:

_"Good evening," he said. "It's Marietta, isn't it?"_

_She eyed him suspiciously. "Er . . . yes. And you're ―"_

_"Malfoy," he replied. "Draco Malfoy. Fifth year Slytherin Prefect, member of the Inquisitorial Squad."_

_"Wait, are you on a patrol?" she asked, her eyes widened.  
_

_He shook his head. "I'm not assigned, but I've got the permission; it's one of the perks, you see. . . . Now tell me, Marietta, what would a fine young lady such as yourself be doing out of her dormitory this late at night ― ?"_

_"I'm not in an army, I swear!" she cried. "If that's what you're here for, to interrogate me, you're wrong!"  
_

So dramatic.

_He raised his eyebrows. "So there_ is _an army, then?"_

_"N-no, there's not, there isn't . . ."  
_

_There was an awkward silence for a few moments as Marietta struggled for words._

_Draco placed a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. ". . . I can walk you back to your dormitory, if you'd like. You won't rouse suspicion that way. Sound good?"_

_She looked at him oddly again. "I thought you weren't nice to people. Why is this any different?"_

Well, I don't know. Maybe if you got rid of that mess of bushy, curly hair _then_ we could talk.

_"I'd rather not be strict when I can be," he replied smoothly. "But, of course, if you'd prefer I enforce some rules more harshly __―"_

_"No, this is fine!" she said. "It's great! I just didn't know you could be so nice. . . ."_

_"There's a lot of things you don't know about me, then," he said with a smirk._

_She rolled her eyes. "Typical, a measly little fifth year hitting on an older girl __―_"

_He held his hand up to stop her. He grabbed her by the arm, dangerously close to her, and looked her dead in the eye. She wasn't even Hermione's height, so he had to look down at her._

What a pathetic excuse for a woman.

_"This measly little fifth year has more power and influence than you will ever have at this school. If you don't want to pay the High Inquisitor a little visit tonight, I suggest you keep your mouth _shut_." _

_She smirked at him, in a way that he interpreted as flirtatious._

Hermione's smirk is better. Step it up.

_"I like your style," she said._

_"And why exactly would you like that?" he asked. "I'm _threatening _you."_

_"It's pretty forceful. I like that, it's really attractive, you know. . . ."  
_

_She placed a hand on his chest and leaned in. Draco instinctively shoved her back as lightly as he could while still getting her away._

Not today, bitch.

_"Don't touch me."_

_"You were hitting on me when you first saw me," she pouted. "Why did everything change?"_

_"We have different motives," he replied. "I only wanted information. You clearly want a good snogging. And unless you can be of any use, you're not getting any of anything. Actually, no, you're still not getting anything even if you help. It'd just maybe increase your chances by like, one percent or something."_

_She smirked again. "I might be able to help you. Maybe we _can _go pay Umbridge a visit tonight."_

Oh, lovely. Hermione'll be absolutely _thrilled_.

_Draco reluctantly followed Marietta on the walk towards Umbridge's office, white-faced and shaking, knowing completely that it would hurt Hermione to no end._

And that was it. It _was _his fault, but he was too much of a coward to own up to it. He was a Slytherin all the way through. He was more concerned about his own safety than the safety of others. It was in his subconscious, he couldn't control it. But he wanted to. Oh, how he wanted to. But to a Malfoy, that would be impossible. And no matter what he did, he would always be a Malfoy, whether he liked it or not.

But the least he could give her was honesty. That was key in any relationship. And at this point, that was where they seemed to be heading.

He walked the corridors near Gryffindor tower, in the hopes that maybe Hermione would be there. And soon enough, he caught sight of her.

_Way better than Marietta Edgecombe._

She was walking alone, looking determinedly in front of her. She had something to do, clearly. But he had to do this, he didn't care.

He sped up to meet her, and placed a hand on her shoulder when he had reached her. Her head and gorgeous mane of chocolate curls spun around to look at him. The expression on her face turned from shock to one of confusion.

"Draco," she whispered. "What are you doing here?"

Other students walked around them, leaving the Great Hall. They looked at them curiously as they passed, but no one seemed to make too big of a deal out of it.

"I need to talk to you," he said slowly. "I realize I haven't been very honest with you lately. Well, you're going to hear everything. You _need _to hear everything. . . . Come with me, we need to talk about some things. I know you said you wanted to talk, too, that night in Umbridge's office. . . . Let's try that Room of Requirement."

* * *

They were completely silent on the journey there. But they had eventually reached the room, after Hermione and Draco wished for a place that they could talk in private. They entered the room, which looked slightly like a living room, with couches and chairs and a lovely little fireplace. Hermione took one of the chairs, and Draco sat down in the corner of the couch closest to her.

"So . . . we both want to talk about some things," said Hermione.

Draco nodded and stared into the fireplace. "There's a lot of questions that need to be answered. . . . But I still think I've told you my side of your question. I don't know how much further investigation that needs."

"It doesn't need any," she said. "I wanted to talk about my side of it, actually."

"Oh."

"But I think you should tell me what you need to first."

"Great." He tore his gaze away from the fireplace and instead looked into the fiery pair of hazel eyes that were looking back at him. "I'm going to be completely and utterly honest with you. Do you understand the implications of this?"

She nodded.

"I don't want any arguing, screaming, or unnecessary physical punishment for this. That means no slapping, punching, whatever. Understand?"

She nodded again, but looked more let down. "So . . . it's not good, then, is it?"

"No, it really isn't," he said. "But I have the decency enough to tell you what's up, so there you go."

". . . Okay."

He took a deep breath. "So, I sort of persuaded, without meaning to, Marietta Edgecombe to come and snitch on you guys. And I'm really sorry."

Her face completely fell. She looked livid. She stood up, looking as if she were going to walk out. Not wanting to let her escape, Draco stood also and grabbed hold of her wrist. She turned around to look at him.

"We had a deal," he said. "No physical harm."

"No _u__nnecessary _physical harm!" she said. "I think this is pretty necessary!"

She swung her hand back and slapped him across the face repeatedly, with a surprising amount of force. He fell back down on the couch while she was still attacking him, holding his arms up to defend himself as best he could.

_This is going to be a long night._


	17. Chapter 17

Draco had been silent for quite some time to allow Hermione to calm down. But, he wasn't able to avoid the bruises that would show up on his skin tomorrow. She had given him quite the beating. It was enough to tire herself out; she was now curled up on the couch, Draco sitting awkwardly on the corner, watching her. She was crying into the cushions, her head buried in her arms.

"I c-can't believe you," she whispered. "I c-can't believe y-you'd g-g-give us away. . . . I h-h-hate you. . . ."

He shrugged. "I don't blame you. If I were you, I'd hate me, too. . . . And I never would've loved me, either."

"I n-never loved you," she said, raising her head to glare at him. "I could _never _love you."

"That's a lie, and you know it."

She sat up quickly, wiping the tears away. "Don't make me hit you again."

"You're not going to hit me," he said firmly.

"I just did, why wouldn't I?"

"Because you can't." He narrowed his eyes. "You know what I mean, Hermione. Don't act so stupid. You didn't want to hit me just now, you were being emotional."

"Of course I wanted to hit you, you're completely two-faced and selfish!"

"No, that's not why," he said. "You're just upset with me. It happens. But I know you won't care about that tomorrow or anytime in the future. You still care about me."

He raised his eyebrows at her. She still looked completely lost.

"Didn't you open that package Ginny sent?" he asked. "You know, that 'secret diary' of yours? I found it . . . I also returned it to you."

"What?" She shook her head furiously. "You had the diary for _how long_?"

He scratched his head awkwardly. "Er . . . quite some time now."

"You just hate me, don't you?" she cried, throwing a decorative pillow from the couch at him. "You just love to do anything that makes me miserable ―"

"Oh, yes," he said sarcastically, "because you know how much I just _hate_ to be around you all the time. That's why I spend every moment I can with you. I hate you so much that I'm just naturally _drawn _to wherever you are. . . . Logic, Hermione."

She glared at him for a moment, but took a deep breath to calm herself. "How did you get it . . . you know, the diary . . . ?"

"You dropped it that one day," he replied. "You know, the day I told you I didn't care that you and I hung out at all?"

"What a pleasant reminder," she said.

"Don't get upset on me or anything," he said. "I'm just trying to give you context. . . . Anyway, when you ran off ― after I tried to talk to you after that row with Pansy ― it fell out of your bag. I couldn't help myself. I thought about not opening it, but I didn't know it was a diary, of course. I mean, I guess it looked like one, but I wouldn't really know."

She hung her head down in embarrassment as she recalled her entries. There were so many dedicated to how much she liked him, and he knew the entire time.

"What ― what did you see?" she whispered, tears forming in her eyes again.

"Oh, everything," he said, with a light smirk. "I finished it in one night, but I made sure to write some quotes down to memorize them." He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, raising his eyebrows at her. "These were some of my favorites to memorize, but I'll just read them for accuracy's sake. . . . All right, you know how I feel about you. I'm not taking that back. I think we should talk about this like adults. That means no hitting, no screaming, no tantrum-throwing. Please just _be calm_. I just want to understand what you've been feeling this entire time . . . ever since that night I told you how I felt, I've been wondering why you were so reluctant. It hurt, Hermione. But I want to get over that. . . . Would you mind explaining these quotes for me?"

She knew there was no use at this point, and she didn't even care anymore. It was too late for her to try and pretend like she didn't mean any of those things. She slowly nodded, curling her legs up under her chin and staring straight at the rug under the couch.

He nodded back to her and looked at the paper. "Here's the first one: '_I felt so bad for him._'"

"After you told me about your family issues," she said.

"'_Draco and I have come to a bit of a common ground._'"

"I felt like I could relate to you, or at least figure out where you were coming from. I never felt like I could do that before."

"'_He isn't heartless._'"

"You . . . I could tell you could care about things."

"'_He's a not-bad person who does bad things._'"

"You're a bully," she said firmly. "You can't deny that. You're horrible to my friends. But I know that you have the potential to be nice. If you really _wanted_ to be, that is."

He nodded and looked down at the paper again, his eyebrows raised. "Er . . . '_I'm getting really nervous around Draco_ _Malfoy_'. . . ?"

She flushed red. "Yes, that's exactly what it sounds like. I don't need to elaborate."

"I liked it," he said. "But I think my favorites were the ones right after we hung out, like '_I feel so girly and stupid_' . . . '_getting shivers from a simple touch_' . . . '_I think I actually like Draco_' . . . '_full-on crush_' . . . '_I think I realized it when I wrapped my arms around him_' . . . '_I don't think I've been terribly obvious about it_' . . . '_not that I think he likes me_' . . . '_I was feeling jealousy when Charlotte was flirting with him_' . . . '_oh, Hermione, you've really changed_' . . . I couldn't have said it better myself.

"You clearly have feelings for me. Or you _did_, I don't know. You seemed mighty defensive over Krum."

"I'm not in a relationship with him," she said. "Well, I _won't _be, anyway. I think he still considers us a couple. . . . That's where I was headed when you ran into me, before we came here? I was going to my room to write a letter telling him I wanted to break it off with him. . . ."

"Oh." He raised his eyebrows curiously. "And might I inquire about your reasoning behind it?"

"You know my reasoning, Draco. You'd know it better than anyone."

Silence filled the room for several minutes. She still stared at the ground before her, trying to process exactly _what_ was going on right now. They were talking about feelings. What male ever wanted to talk about _feelings_? Yet here they were, talking about how they felt about each other openly and freely. She knew that he had to care about her to a very large extent if he was this comfortable talking about these things, and initiating such conversations. He was fifteen and absolutely and completely in love.

"So, the diary," she said, breaking the silence. "Did — you didn't show it to anyone, did you?"

He smiled warmly at her. "No."

"You truly didn't?"

"No, I didn't show it to anyone. I really just didn't want to. I think I enjoyed it more with just me reading it. You know, like our little secret."

"But I thought maybe Pansy or Charlotte or anyone would've found it in your hands, and —"

"But they _didn't_."

He readjusted his position on the couch so that he would be closer to her. She looked up to find him mere inches away from her, and stared him straight in the eye.

"That — that was nice of you," she said, nervous from how close he was.

"Don't get me wrong, Hermione; I _do_ hate you," he said, "just not for the reasons you might think I'd hate someone."

Hermione was bewildered. "Then why are you — ?"

He gently laid his hands on her shoulders, immediately silencing her. She let out a little whimper, but didn't physically resist.

"What — what are you doing — ?"

He let out a dry laugh. "Hating you, obviously."

"That's not how you usually let someone know you hate them," she said, her voice breaking.

"I'm only hating you the way you want me to, and I don't think I can express exactly how I hate you any other way."

He moved his grip from her shoulders down to her hands, gently holding them in his, and looked her in the eyes.

"I'll explain," he said, "because I feel like I'm being vague. I hate you because you're gorgeous. I hate you because you're brilliant. I hate you because you're funny. I hate you because you're the sweetest person I've ever met. I hate you because it took you over four years to let me have you, even as just a friend. I hate you because my parents won't want me to have you. I hate you because you made me mad for you. I hate you because you're _perfect_."

She was internally going insane. Something didn't feel right. Or, maybe it _was _right, but the feeling was so foreign. When she had been with Viktor, they did things like this. They held hands and said sweet things to each other like it was nothing. What was the difference?

"Draco, this is wrong —"

He laughed quietly. "And you like that, don't you?"

"N-no, I don't —"

"Then why haven't you let go?" he whispered.

He began to lean back into the couch, his hands still in hers. He stopped momentarily to let her decide if she wanted to lean back as well, and when she slowly began to lean back, he laid down with his head down on the armrest, his arms wrapped around Hermione. She wanted to let go, to escape, to do something. . . .

The fact was, she couldn't let go. _Why couldn't she let go?_ She wanted to break free, she knew she had things she should be doing instead . . . but she was helpless.

He evidently read her mind. "Don't act like this isn't what you want. This is the way we _both _want it to be."

"But we . . . we can't —"

But he was right. This _was _exactly what she wanted, and she couldn't deny it to herself. Her heart was telling her where it belonged. It belonged with that pure-blood git, Draco Malfoy. And for once in her life, she was going to follow what her heart told her, and not what her mind did.

_Of course, I think my mind might be there, too._

She soon realized that she couldn't take it anymore. She was a goner, and she knew it all too well when it was too late. . . . But at least she knew. And she didn't want it to be quite so awkward; she wanted to make the most of it.

She turned herself around, still held closely in his arms, so that she could face him, her hands placed gently on his chest. He kept his gaze averted, his face scarlet and beads of sweat forming along his hairline. She smiled softly at him, and lightly tugged his shirt to get his attention. He regained his confidence, met her eyes, and smiled back.

"I've changed my mind," she said. "You — you're right. You're right about everything."

He smirked. "Of course I am. Aren't I always?"

"No, but this time you were. You put away your pride for me, and I'm going to do the same."

"You know I don't usually get like this," he said. "I've _never_ gotten like this. I feel so stupid ―"

"It's cute," she said, now bringing one of her hands up to brush back the strands of hair that had fallen in his face. "It's a human reaction, it's perfectly normal. You don't have to keep everything bottled up all the time. . . ."

Gently stroking his hair, she felt tears welling up in her eyes. She allowed herself to snuggle up to him, her head laid on his chest and his arms still wrapped firmly around her.

This was what she wanted, wasn't it? This was the stuff of fairy tales, where the princess always found her way to her Prince Charming in the end.

_I guess I never dreamed that Draco would be my prince._

She began to cry into his shirt, so overcome with emotion that she couldn't handle it anymore. She had to let it out, everything was so beautiful and perfect and dream-like. . . .

"Why are you crying?" asked Draco quietly. "Is something wrong?"

"No," she said, her voice trembling. "No, nothing could be more right."

She placed her hands on his chest to push herself up slightly, moving her head away from its resting position. Her face was mere inches away from his as he placed his right hand under her chin.

"So here we are," she said, giggling quietly.

He smirked and placed his free hand on her shoulder. The hand on her chin was still resting in place, his thumb gently brushing her cheek. His fingers caressed the back of her neck, pulling her in closer. She rested her forehead on his, as he moved his left hand from her shoulder to her hair. He dropped his voice down to a whisper, as he himself felt the intensity of the moment.

"So here we are."

He gently pressed his lips to hers, causing her to shudder. They were pouring every ounce of passion and pent-up feelings that they had into this kiss. In a world filled with witches and wizards, neither of them had felt something so magical. Everything was just _right_. This was the way it was meant to be.

As they pulled away, he sat upright on the couch and looked her in the eyes again. The reality was beginning to set in. He had just kissed Hermione Granger. . . and not as friends. He pressed his forehead to hers again and they couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't a mocking laugh; it was one of true happiness and contentment.

He grinned at her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, his head resting on her shoulder.

"I — I'm not sure what to say now," he said breathlessly. "I just . . . everything is just so . . . this is nice."

She giggled and tightened the embrace. "Yes, this is very nice."

"So . . . this is us, then?" he asked.

"Yes, Draco . . . this is us."


End file.
